A Shot in the Dark
by nevergone4ever
Summary: "It's only a shot in the dark if I can stop this awful energy." Welcome to the 71st Hunger Games!
1. Lethal Plans

**Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane, 37**

"Good luck out there, Seneca," whispers my wife, Addilyn. Her expression is worried for me, but it doesn't hide her incessant beauty. Her pale face is graced with two dark arches for eyebrows and the most incredible long, black eyelashes you've ever seen.

"Thank you, honey," I tell her, my grip tightening on the file folder I hold. "I just hope he won't think that this year is too excessive. I worked really hard on this."

"Why would it be too excessive?" Addilyn asks.

"Well, sweetie. A Quarter Quell is right around the corner and he wants that to be more memorable, naturally."

"I see," she muses.

A woman with lime green tendrils around her oval-shaped face pokes her head out of the office. "President Snow is waiting for you," she deadpans, her eyes flickering over to Addilyn for a brief moment before her head pops back into the room.

Addilyn hugs me for a moment, then hurries back to wait on the sofa with our son.

I inhale sharply before entering through the heavy door.

The lime-green haired woman is nowhere to be seen- instead, it's just President Snow, who sits sipping a red mug of something brown. "Welcome, Seneca," he greets me coldly, even though we've been acquaintances for three years now. "Let's get right down to business, shall we?"

I swallow nervously. "Yes, sir," I declare, spreading a white sheet over his desk.

It takes four or five minutes for him to fully consume the idea of this arena. He strokes his beard thoughtfully, slurping down more of his drink. Me? I sit in the chair feeling like a canary being looked over by a tomcat. I'm terrified.

Suddenly Snow looks up, his blue eyes piercing through me sharply. "Seneca," he addresses me firmly. "You do know that the Quarter Quell is in just three years, correct?"

"I am aware, sir," I say.

"Although this arena idea is fine, it may be a bit too extravagant for a Games that comes nearly directly before the Quell."

"A funfair idea seems fine, sir," I begin nervously, "and we could tone it down a little. Perhaps take away the human muttations and the food booths-"

"No." Snow shakes his head. "Seneca, I told you what I was looking for. Something historical this year. And this is more modern. We still have these 'funfairs' throughout Panem!"

"But sir-"

"It was also brought to my attention that the outlier districts have not had a victor for twenty years. Meaning, of course, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve. This arena should be modified to fit one of those districts, therefore giving one of them an edge."

"Sir, that's never been done before-"

"I know it." He interrupts again. "But if they don't have a victor soon, Ten could rebel. It's one of the largest districts. Their last victor was seventeen years ago, Seneca! Two has had THREE in that time, One having FIVE!" he's standing now, his hands slammed down on the desk in anger. "Do what you are told or PAY THE PRICE!"

I back away numbly, my eyes wide in fear. "Yes, President Snow," I reply coldly, my heart in my throat. With that, I snatch up the map of the funfair arena and dart out.

Addilyn springs up. "What did he say?" she asks cheerfully. "That was quick!"

"He… hated the funfair idea," I tell her. "Said it wasn't historical enough."

Her jaw drops to the ground. "You worked two months on that arena!" she exclaims. "Seneca, the Reapings start in two weeks. You'll only have three weeks to create another arena idea to pitch!"

I sigh. "Let's head home, Addi."

Tetris, my eleven-year-old son, follows at our heels mournfully, his huge brown eyes downcast. He doesn't understand much, but he does understand that this is not very good news just by our tones. I'll fill my family in on more at supper. But for now, I have an arena to plan.

Dinner comes. Addilyn makes my favorite meal, baked chicken rolled in horseradish with sautéed asparagus and cornbread. But I can scarcely eat. I threw away six arena possibilities already, and I'm having a lot of trouble coming up with something that would tie in to an outlier district.

"Papa, are you OK?" Tetris pipes up after we say grace. "Your face is sad."

I smile faintly. "I'm all right, Tetris. Just tired."

"Then you have been tired all day, for your face has been like that since this morning when you came out of Mr. Snow's office."

I try not to say something bitter. Instead, I stab a few asparagus spears onto my fork and delicately chew. "Wonderful meal, sweetie."

"Thank you!" Addilyn perks up from dejectedly staring into her chicken. "I used paprika this time in the cornbread. Can you tell?"

Tetris takes a huge bite and almost immediately spits it into his napkin. "Spicy," he gags.

"Tetris," I say sternly, glancing warily at my own cornbread. Oh, well. Might as well while there's a glass of milk at my place.

"Well? _Is_ it spicy?" Addilyn questions anxiously, watching my face closely.

"Perhaps just a bit," I respond, taking a couple swigs of milk. "Nothing excessive, though."

After a few moments of chewing and swallowing in silence, Addilyn breaks the barrier. "Seneca, I can't stand it. Did you come up with another arena pitch or not?"

My face falls. "I've had lots of good ideas since this morning, Addi. A historical shopping mall, historical nature reserve. Things like that. But Snow says they're supposed to tie into an outlier district, namely Ten, Eleven, or Twelve."

"A horse stable!" Tetris exclaims. "For District Ten!"

I smile weakly. "I've thought of that, Tetris. Nice idea, though. But it wouldn't work. This arena needs to be big, and horse stables would cover perhaps half a square mile."

"What about a coal mine for Twelve?"

"There's too great a risk that it could collapse on the tributes, and then there wouldn't be a victor at all."

"Not even a forest? District Eleven has orchards, doesn't it?"

"That's a possibility."

We all sit there in our dining room. The only sounds are clinking of forks against the plates and dejected chewing.

As if on a silent cue, my wife gasps and springs up from her chair, knees knocking together excitedly. "Seneca, I've _got_ it!" she announces joyfully, and whispers it into my ear.

My brown eyes grow huge as I listen into more and more of her suggestion. Tetris looks at us questioningly.

I jump up beside my wife, something that is very out of character for me. "Addilyn, you've got it!" I sing out. "Not even _Snow_ could reject that idea! It ties in perfectly with both the outlier district AND the historical theme! You're a GENIUS!"

"Aren't I?" she jokes.

Nearly two weeks later I revisit Snow's office with a confident grin on my face that nothing could wipe off. When I spread the paper over his desk this time, his reaction is immediate. He can't hide his pleasure as he scans the sheet, not even stopping when he comes to the rockiest part.

"Seneca Crane…" he begins, hiding a positive smile behind his fist, "this arena is one of the best I've seen. I never really expected you to tie in with both themes, but you really have exceeded my expectations. Congratulations!"

"You'll use it? Sir?" I add hastily.

"Yes," President Snow declares confidently. Gazing out his picturesque window, he continues on, "This arena truly is beautiful. The perfect place for one victor to rise to glory, for twenty-three others to fall at their mercy. Yet it won't completely overshadow the Quell's arena. This biome is a piece of historical art, Seneca. One of the best arenas I have seen in all my years of president."

"Thank you, sir," I say after a moment's hesitation. I really don't want to break this amazing moment with a 'sir'.

He turns back to me. "As usual, I'll expect you to send the muttation forms over to Mr. Krock at the breeding facility to begin creating these creatures, yes?"

"I will, sir."

"And remember to print extra blueprints once you get them to the builders. Most of them forget those maps at home and have to use others'."

"Yes, sir."

As I walk out of the office, a grin plastered firmly onto my face that nothing could shake, I feel the weight of the world slowly being lifted off my clavicles.

**A/N: Well, well, well. We're back with a second SYOT! The form is on my profile, submit as many as you want for a better chance of getting into the 71****st**** Games. I only accept forms by PM, though. Make a note of that!**

**Quick thing- I have already chosen the females from 1, 2, and 4 so please don't bother writing up a form for them. But all the others are fair game. Tell your friends, too! ^-^**

**May the odds be ever in your favor!**


	2. 1 Somebody Told Me

**It's not confidential- I've got potential.**

**-Somebody Told Me, the Killers**

**Brucite Gergeon, 18, District One**

"Bruce, Bruce, can I come with you?"

I wrinkle my nose at Nano. You'd think that at fifteen he'd have some friends of his own, not just pawning off mine.

"That sounds like fun!" Mom claims, wiping her hands on her cream-colored apron, a small smile slowly making its way to her mouth. "What are you boys going to practice?"

"Mom," I protest, shoving a spoonful of scrambled eggs through my awaiting mouth. "He's _not_ coming with me."

"Yes I am!" Nano replies indignantly, hurrying over to Mom. I scowl, knowing immediately what will come next.

"Honey," begins Mom. I quickly cut her off to try to avoid her world-class speech.

"Mom, can't he hang out with- wait, what's his face… Lemme think here…"

"His NAME is Dustin," Nano tells me sullenly, hanging his head.

"Yeah. Dustin. Can't he hang out with Dustin? They can shoot some bows and arrows or something, maybe even-"

"Bruce…"

"Swing an axe if they're lucky and the trainer-"

"Bruce, Nano is coming with you."

I pause in the middle of my sentence. Mom raises her eyebrows and I know that it's pointless to argue. "_Fine_," I snap, throwing my bowl at the sink and storming to the front door.

Topaz and Dunite are waiting for me out in my yard, throwing a football back and forth.

"Hey, guys!" cries Nano, rushing forward to intercept one of Dunite's perfect passes.

"Bruce," Topaz grumbles, his blue eyes flickering over to my little brother, "Why is he tagging along with us again?"

"Sorry," I mumble. "Mom made me. We can ditch him at the sword station, you know how he gets caught up in watching his reflection."

Topaz looks like he wants to say more to me but instead hollers to Nano cheerfully, "Hey, little buddy! Pass me the ball!"

The walk to the Training Palace is uneventful, mainly because there's no girls to show off to. Usually Dunite, who has even larger muscles than I do, and I will flex at a random mailbox and snatch up their attention. Topaz, the most quiet one, would chat with them until he 'accidentally' mentions us, and then we have a triple date for that night.

As Dunite and Nano annoyingly chuck the ball back and forth, Topaz talks with me a bit. "Happy Reaping, Bruce."

"Yeah," I reply, a smirk plastered onto my face firmly. "Happy Reaping."

"Gonna volunteer like you did last year?" teases Topaz.

I snarl back, "Yes, but this time that tiny little escort will notice ME, not that one guy. Marvel, his name was, right?"

"Marvel Damper, that's the one."

"I can't believe that she noticed that skinny little idiot instead of me. He hardly killed!"

"He made four kills and lasted until the final six."

"Yeah, but then what happened? He gets murdered by the Eleven girl, and we all know that District Eleven has no chance of winning since the Training Palace was built!"

"I heard she was good at bow and arrow because she shot birds out of the sky from feeding on their orchards. You know, a Scarecrow."

"Scarecrows never win. You know that, Topaz."

"Oh, shut up," Topaz responds back. His deep voice vibrates his Adam's Apple, and I watch with slight fascination as it bobs up, then down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down.

"Bruce," he motions ahead of us. "It's them, Rasp and Monica. Aren't you and Dunite gonna, I dunno, roll up your sleeves and casually do push-ups or something?"

"He's not interested," I shoot back. Dunite's actually checking out the chest on the brunette one discreetly, but I know that Topaz's eyesight isn't the best. It's sort of a mystery how he noticed the two girls in the first place.

"Anyways… Ready to murder some dummies?" I motion to the Palace that looms ahead of us.

Topaz smirks. "Read my mind, Bruce."

**Constance von Trapp, 17, District One**

As I toss and turn in my bed, images from the night before haunt my mind.

_There she was… my sixteen-year-old sister. Everybody's favorite little girl, destined to volunteer these Games. Just innocently splashing and giggling with her slightly older friend. What was her name? Dazzle or something equally stupid like that._

_The side of my hand burns from the scrape I got earlier in snatching the knife. I wince slightly, pushing the bloody side into my thigh. _

"_Constance!" calls Kimberly, her chestnut hair glistening in the aqua water. "You said you weren't going to swim with Dazzle and me!"_

"_C'mere," I call, motioning to the pool bench next to me. "I need to tell you something… in private." I sneak a glance at her friend, who is too busy adjusting her halter bikini top to pay me any notice._

_Kimberly skitters out of the water perkily and follows me into the lady's dressing room. "What did you need?" she asks, her voice never once wavering._

"_You can't volunteer tomorrow," I say, giving her one last chance to prove herself. _

_Kimberly's eyebrows draw together. "Sorry, sister. You've had more chances than I have. Maybe you can volunteer next year, after I come home as victor!" she chirps._

"_But this is my year," I reply, stalling for time as I adjust the tool in my hand so my fingers enclose the ivory handle._

"_No way," giggles Kimberly. Always smiling. Always chipper. "My year, Connie."_

_That's the last thing she ever said. Quicker than lightning I knocked her to the ground. Her skull smacked painfully into the wet tiled floor. I straddled her quickly and poised the knife over my head._

_Kimberly's brown eyes widen and her lips stretch out into an O, but it's already far too late. The only part of the knife visible is the beautiful ivory handle, glimmering faintly in the tacky fluorescent lights. A thin stream of crimson slowly trickles out of the fatal wound and blends with the clear chlorine-filled water._

_I shoved her body into a shower stall crudely, not knowing where else to put it. By the time they discovered it was me, I'd already be in the arena with a few more kill counts to my name. I'd have no punishment at all for this terrible crime._

Sweat glistens on my forehead as I step awkwardly out of bed. My black and silky pajamas cling to my skin. "Water," I croak out nearly silently, feeling the dryness of my tongue as I moved it around my mouth.

My family's Avox, Dais, was downstairs knitting something. I know what you're thinking- slavery. But it's not like that, not really. Almost every family in District One has at least one Avox, and some don't treat theirs well. But Dais is important to us… To me and Divines, my big brother, at least. Mother and Father are very formal to her, almost like she's not human.

"Dais," I call in a haunting, creaky voice. "Would you please get me some water?"

She sets down the red knitted item and scurries to the kitchen.

It's very early morning, around two or three. I'm surprised Dais was even up. When she returns I ask her, knowing full well that she can't respond, and when she makes some gestures to indicate she couldn't sleep I don't believe her but let it go.

Later in the morning, about nine or so, my friends came over. Tempera's my best friend. Her appearance isn't unlike most in One, with curly brown hair and sea blue eyes. Her face is rather narrow, something she's spent hours obsessing over and goggling at herself in a looking glass. But each time I've assured her that her facial structure is fine, she takes ten more minutes to stare at it.

Trancer Tooran is older than us by a year. He's a bit handsome in my book, and I think Tempera's harboring a mad crush over him. He has bulging muscles, deep red hair, and soulful blue eyes. Strangely, he's not crazy about training like many other boys in One. He's training instead to become a musician- he specializes in guitars mostly, and he sings a deal as well.

When Dais led them up to my room, I gasp. I knew there were purple splotches circling my eyes and my skin was paler than a ghost, which Tempera was prompt to point out.

"I think I know that, Temp," I snap as I quickly dab some foundation on. Trancer groans.

"You girls, always obsessing over your face. I think y'all look fine, to be honest."

"It's a female thing," Tempera defends quickly, jabbing an index finger at his ratty old orange sweatshirt. "You could learn a thing or two from us, Trance."

"The name's Trancer?" my friend says teasingly, ruffling a hand through her curls like she's just a little sister to him.

I briefly swipe some grey eyeshadow over my eyelids before turning back to the quibbling duo. "It's the Reaping!"

"We know," Trancer says back-handedly, examining an antique doll whose foot was sticking out from under the bed. "That's why we came here."

"We'd like to wish you good luck when you volunteer," Tempera tells me shyly, something unusual for her. "I really hope you make it back OK."

"Do you seriously have to volunteer?" Trancer's dark blue eyes pierce mine, and I avert my gaze.

"It's something I'd like to do," I say uncomfortably.

"Trance," warns Tempera. "Let it go. It's our Connie. She'll come back alright… Right?"

Her tone, uncertain, makes me hug her tightly. "Of course. I'd never dream of anything less."

Suddenly a very awkward air hangs loosely in my room and Trancer clears his throat. "About your sister, Constance…"

"We're real sorry," Tempera interrupts him.

"Don't be," I reply boldly, shrugging. "Kimberly was stupid. It was bound to happen sometime or another, right? She always was reckless."

Tempera's mouth falls open and Trancer is quick to push his thumb under her chin. "Some people handle death differently," he mutters quickly to her, turning his steely stare back to me.

"Well… we brought you a care package," Tempera says, still shell-shocked. She quickly moves outside my door and brings in a wicker basket filled with fresh fruit and magazines.

"Oh my God, I love you!" I screech, moving in for a magazine with my idol, Gloss, on the cover. I examine his tanned face hungrily, looking for the birthmark just above his left eyebrow that defines him as the one and only Gloss Catch.

Trancer looks a bit uncomfortable as Tempera hops onto my bed and pats the spot next to her. Instantly we get immersed in an interview for the upcoming Hunger Games, and one shot of him raking a hand through his perfect chestnut hair makes me squeal girlishly.

"Excited much?" my redheaded comrade says sarcastically from his spot propped up near my door.

I spring off the bed, land on the carpeted floor with a small creak, and wrap my long arms around his torso. "Thanks so much, Trance!"

He smirks and pats my head awkwardly a couple times, his arm obviously half-blocked from my own. Whatever.

"Connie, you and Gloss would look super good together," Tempera comments from the bed, the glossy pages of the magazine nearly pressed to her nose. "I mean, honestly, you guys have a matching pair of abs."

"Tempera!" I protest.

"Whoa, whoa, Constance has abs?" Trancer questions Tempera quickly.

"They're so defined. I dunno how she gets them! My belly's always been, like, this pudgy." Tempera stands up and pinches the lower half of her misty grey tank top.

Trancer gets an evil look in his eyes and before I know what he's doing, I'm on the ground and he's trying to get a glance at my stomach. Most girls would find this totally invasive of their space, but Trancer's basically an older brother to me so instead I simply cackle- not giggle, my girly giggle is terrible- and attempt to throw him off me.

Finally he gets a good look of what he tackled me for and rolls over. "Not that defined," he comments quirkily.

"Thanks so much for wrestling me to the ground to make that deduction," I grumble good-naturedly.

Trancer lifted his eyebrows in fake hurt and started to say something when Tempera gasped and pointed to the clock, her wrist shaking a bit. "Oh my God, there's only a half hour left before the Reaping! I have to go get ready!"

"Throw on a pretty dress, put on some lipstick and run out the door. Perfect."

"Trance-errrrr," Tempera giggles, flipping a lock of hair over her shoulder carelessly, "You really flatter me sometimes."

Trancer raises an eyebrow, but before he can say anything I stand up and give each of them a shove. "You. Two. Out. Reaping. Now. BYE!"

**Rosary Hayes, 44, District One escort**

"Are you ready for this year, Rose?"

I peer over my thick purple and white striped glasses at Cashmere, who loftily yawns and sips her thick brown coffee. "Quite ready, thanks," I snap snippily. "It's my first year in District One, I'd have to be brainless not to be ready for this."

"Right, you knocked Wanda right off her high horse!" Gloss, the victor's brother, claims with his arms outstretched. "Glad you did, Rosary. She was a bit, how do I say, obnoxious and too fashion-intoxicated to understand anything revolving around her."

"I know," I reply stiffly, not exactly wanting to badmouth her but agreeing with the young victor.

"The doors take forever to open," Gloss tells me knowingly as I tap my finger cautiously against the thick door that will open into the square.

"I _know_ that, Gloss. I've done other districts."

"Right," Gloss agrees, his cheeky smile evident. "You were stranded with Eleven for a couple years, then moved down to Five. You stayed there for one year, same with Four, then you came to Two for three or four years. You sure did move _fast_."

"You memorized my district sequence?" I marvel with wide open eyes.

"Sure. Do that with every mentor. Wanda, for example. Why, she was a quick one as well. Twelve had her for three years before-"

A blond Avox taps my shoulder, signaling the opening of the doors. Gloss shuts up and rejoins Cashmere in the victor line. From each side of the door, silent Avoxes pull on heavy ropes that slowly open the gigantic doors, letting in blinding light.

I, glad for my glasses, adjust my sparkly wig and strut to the awaiting microphone and the two glass bowls that are full of white slips. A giggle can't help but escape the imprisonment of my mouth.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" I chirp, holding the microphone close to my mouth. "And here we are for the District One Reaping of the seventy-first annual Hunger Games!"

After I announce the Treaty of Treason and that wretched, endless video plays, I turn back to the bustling crowd. "And now… we pick our tributes!"

I stroll over to the male's bowl and root around, searching for just the right white slip, when suddenly peace is disrupted. A brunette female with a very nice red and orange pantsuit stands at the edge of the stage, a smirk painted onto her beautiful face.

"Constance von Trapp," she speaks calmly into the microphone. "Girl tribute, that is."

My mouth agape, I watch as she methodically struts over to the girl's Reaping bowl and stands there, seemingly guarding it. I can hear the female side gasping and complaining loudly. _Is this even allowed? What will happen next?_

Meanwhile, on the male's side, there is shouting and whooping going on…. A lot of it, too. "HURRY UP AN' GET THE SLIP!" one screams, his face red.

My ruby red lips pursed, I pluck a white sheet from the top. _Andrew Thompson_.

"An-"

"I volunteer!"

The booming voice comes from the eighteen-year olds. Above all the shrieking and pushing to get to the stage, my eyes lock onto a very muscular man with steely, determined emerald green eyes.

"You there," I call out, pointing to him. "In the sky blue shirt."

His face breaks into a tremendous grin and instead of desperately-needing-to-be-Reaped perspiration, it's now victorious sweat that collects in a thin sheen on his forehead. Cheering, the boy darts through the pool of eighteen-year-olds to take the steps two at a time. Once up, he snatches the microphone- rather rudely- from my clutch and announces broadly, "Bruce! Brucite Gergeon!"

He then shoves it back into my hands and rolls up his shirt sleeve. Constance rolls her eyes and lets out a low groan, as if knowing what will happen next. Yes, it does. Brucite flexes his muscles, a luminescent beam crawling across his face.

"Looks like we have a winner in this district!" I reported proudly to the screaming audience. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

**A/N: Cue the screaming fans! Lights, cameras, action! The first Reaping chapter has been posted! *Gasp***

**Alrighty, people. So far I've picked out most of the tributes, except I'm still deliberating on a few. Here we have them so far—**

**District One-**

**Male- Brucite Gergeon **

_**Bruce, a muscled man with a wicked ability to swing maces, has volunteered. Will his vainness work in his favor, or, like most, will the odds never be in his favor?**_

**Female- Constance von Trapp**

_**The murderous female from District One went calmly up to the stage before the girls even began to be Reaped. Few know what happened to her sister, but she shrugged it off. Her intelligence is strong, but is her will?**_

**District Two-**

**Male-**

**Female- Serafina Aegis**

_**After recovering from a very rocky relationship, Serafina's icy and unemotional nature will be tested when the arena shoves her around for yet another adventure.**_

**District Three**

**Male- Arthur Augustus**

_**Although never diagnosed fully, Arthur's ADHD has never brought him down. If anything, it's made him more chipper than anything. Will the broad beam on his face fade once he rises on the arena plate?**_

**Female- Alessandra Balis **

_**Alessandra's better than everyone, and she knows it. After all, it wasn't her fault that she had to be relocated to the run-down neighborhood of Three. Her training as a District Two girl might just come in handy…**_

**District Four-**

**Male- Percy Brizo**

_**Percy hasn't had a particularly hard life. There's always been the sea. Girl problems? Swim in the sea. Reaping issues coming down hard on his best friend?... Well, the sea can't solve everything.**_

**Female- Coral Fisher**

_**Leaving behind Kai, her brother, was hard enough. Having to be one in the most respected alliance will take this sweet girl some getting used to.**_

**District Five-**

**Male- Alister Rain**

_**If he doesn't come home to Talon, she'll murder him again. His drive to win is so desperate and deep it keeps him up at night, gripping his bedsheets with his palms sweating madly.**_

**Female- Lux Sephina**

_**Lux has never been the outsider. She's always had enough to eat, a warm bed, and loving parents. That was then, and this is now. And now is the Reaping. **_

**District Six- **

**Male- Francis Theroux**

_**Oddball. Loner. Artistic freak. You name it, Francis has been called them all. His prophetic visions don't help the matter that is now his own hell. A mixture of unpleasant traits, this male will do anything for his art.**_

**Female-**

**District Seven-**

**Male- Ben Mchon**

_**Young Ben is, to say this lightly, a lazy one. Although his physical is overall not hard-working, the cogs in his brain spin quickly. Maybe the arena is just what he needs to get back on his feet.**_

**Female- Leaf Ender**

_**Leaf was an accident. The orphanage battered her around so her ribs show prominent as chicken bones and her emotional tendencies increased as an effect. Will the arena provide a calming period for her?**_

**District Eight-**

**Male- Camo Russo**

_**Though never seen without a gum bubble slowly extending outside his lips, this boy is not quirky or hipster. He doesn't fit into any label, actually. He's more like… trapped.**_

**Female- Willa Seamstress**

_**Willa's a born leader and she's NOT afraid to say so. Her outspoken nature, though admired by many, is sometimes a bit much. Will it get her far in the arena?**_

**District Nine-**

**Male- Cohush Nigrum**

_**The son of a healer, Cohush has seen it all- decaying bodies, dead women, crying men… All of these painful sights will never have prepared him for the bloodbath known as the Hunger Games.**_

**Female- Jinx Tesatsu (Either this district or Six, on the fence)**

_**To put this bluntly, Jinx is a sadist. Cue the gasps of horror, the confused faces. She knows you hate her already…. Why else would she be a cruel, murderous sadist that has only felt hate, never passion?**_

**District Ten-**

**Male- Nubu Chandlers**

_**Nubu has a secret and he's not trusting anybody to keep it. This boy is always in a cloud of mystery that shrouds him closer than a warm robe, yet his kindness beams through as a ray of light.**_

**Female- Savanna Poppet**

_**Quirky author Savanna's life flipped upside down when her not-so-secret crush Elijah Bruno was Reaped for the 68**__**th**__** Hunger Games. She saw what it did to him and now, at 18, she'll have to endure that hell as well.**_

**District Eleven-**

**Male- Bark Umbral**

_**Sure. Call Bark antisocial. If you do, you'll get a flurry of fists from his protective best friend, Murray. But not even Murray can protect Bark from the fate that draws him into the arena.**_

**Female- Nessa Aoki **

_**She's observed everybody and everything. Conspicuous, one might say. Reserved. But now she's been thrown upon a pedestal for the entire region of Panem for watch her every move.**_

**District Twelve-**

**Male- Surtr Kayhiv**

_**Touch-sensitive with a knack for befriending. A huge heart with a shriveled trust organ. Bubbly and loving, yet covert and neurotic. Surtr's a mixture of all things bad and good. Or so it seems…**_

**Female- Annabell Berry**

_**Selfless Annabell the "failure" is put to the test when she is Reaped. Her world doesn't just turn upside down, it does insane backflips and angry rampages. And yet Annabell keeps mum.**_

**There we go! Basically, all we need is a District Two male because I have a friend who will hopefully submit the Six female. If not, I'll create a character…. Mwahaha!**

**Review Questions (Reviews let me know if you're reading or not. The less you review, the earlier your tribute dies!)**

**Which tribute stood out to you more? Why?**

**Which top five tributes, based on their really short descriptions, sound most interesting? Why?**

**What top five tributes stand out LEAST to you and why?**

**Taking a vacation to the sunny state for a bit. B) I hope to get submissions for the guy from Two and perhaps the Six girl soon! ^-^**


	3. 2 Like Yesterday

_**Still I will risk it all,**_

_**Just you wait and see.**_

**Serafina Aegis, 18**

"Clara?" I ask my friend, cocking my head just the perfect amount so I can apply a bit more clear lip gloss. "You're gonna volunteer with me this year, correct?"

"Of course. We do every year."

"Right." I select my trusty white fencing helmet.

"Your tone… it sounds sort of _off_." Clara smirks, adjusting her fox ears.

"I don't know if I really want to, this year. Volunteer, I mean."

"But it's all you've always wanted, and there is barely a chance you will get picked. Our escort is such an idiot anyways."

"I understand," I mutter to her, my eyes flickering to the floor in doubt, "and my father would murder me if I didn't try to volunteer."

"So much _drama_, Serafina."

My eyes wander over to the archery area, where my twelve-year-old sister is angrily seething, picking off high-range targets madly. A couple spectators (there never are many at the bow and arrow section) applaud quietly. Her auburn hair, frizzy yet somewhat contained, splays around her shoulders like a lion's mane. She bares her teeth angrily.

"Check out Bellona," I murmur to Clara.

"Looks like a spunky little spitfire," my hazel-eyed friend comments.

I roll my eyes playfully. "Get your helmet on, Clara."

She complies and we each grab our foils- fencing weapons, for the inexperienced who have never fenced. Facing each other, we count down together- "Five, four, three, two, one!"

Clara starts off with a rough jab to my shoulder, but I easily parry it with my hilt. "You've lost your touch, old lady!" I shout from behind the mask as I make a stab for her torso, knocking her off balance.

"As much as I'd like to protect your feelings, I'm just gonna tell you the truth," spits Clara, her face hidden by the alien-like fencing helmet. "You play so dirty, my lewd brother would ask you to fence!"

I raise my eyebrows, hidden to her. "Nice one," I comment, clenching my fingers tighter around the foil's handle. "But not as nice as the victory I'll taste when I win."

"As _if!_" is all Clara replies, obviously heating up. Her movements are jerkier, her actions less controlled and more instinctive. When I aim for the center of her chest, she flails back and lands on her back.

We duel three or four more rounds, two more of them ending in my victory. Clara wins the last one simply because I'm out of breath. I partly let her win to boost her self esteem just a bit, as well.

"Nice rounds," she compliments me as we hang up our foils and obsess silently over the epees, fencing weapons used mainly for the more experienced fighters.

"Yeah… you too." The tools are fabulous, the hard metal enriching them glimmering in the bright Training Center lights. My eyes well up, not with sad tears but tears of desperate longing. I _so_ want to fence with those.

"S'pose I'll see you at the Reaping. Get there early, we want front and center seats!" Clara warns me before flipping a lock of hair over her broad shoulder and flouncing off.

My eyes wander over to the katana section, another area I tend to visit. Standing there in front of the biggest display is… him._ Cassius Troy_. The very man who I had entrusted my heart to. He's showing his muscles off to a group of giggling sixteen and seventeen-year-old females. Obviously he's set his sights on younger girls now, as once Hestia (my EX-best friend) broke up with him finding him to be a lust-filled monster, he probably decided that eighteen-year-olds were too decisive.

He looks up, a twinkle flickering in his turquoise eye. He winks openly, and two or three playgirls, with their lips pursed angrily, see me and make rude gestures.

I curse at them loudly, my icy eyes never leaving the small herd. Cassius smirks and rolls his blood orange sleeve down, beginning to stroll over to me.

I rush over to the archery section, a bit desperately. My sister Bellona is still there, her eyes blazing. Several arrows and two bows litter the ground, obviously cast away in anger.

"Bellona, time to go."

"No."

Furrowing my eyebrows, flaring my nostrils, and clenching my fists all in one, I stamp over to her, yank the bow out of her hand and throw it to the wall (where it shatters rather musically) and rip the quiver off her shoulder. The strap gives a huge screech and it splits along the carefully sewn seams.

"Serafina," growls Bellona, her temper darkening quickly. "You'll pay for that."

I smirk at her evenly, knowing that at only twelve when she's older she'll become a reclaimed fighter. Unless, of course, I volunteer. Then nobody can touch her but me, and I'd never allow her to enter the Games. Anything to keep my _baby_ sister safe.

The walk home is brief, with lots of cussing and cursing under her breath on Bellona's part. I try to keep her under my control by grabbing the scruff of her black turtleneck roughly, yet she pulls away easily. We (well, I) stop at a breakfast cart, which, like most around Two, has cheap sandwiches and such on sale for this very special day. I order an egg-on-buttered-biscuit with some mysterious mustard, and for Bellona I tell the man for a slice of toast with sausage links scattered on top, sprinkled with jalapeno pepper flakes. Bellona deserves a nasty surprise.

Once I chase her home, I shove it into her hands and nearly trip over Aries, her cat. Aries was a gift from Clara, of all people. Basically, the story is that Aries didn't get along with her own two cats, so it was a charitable act to my misfit little sister. He only gets along with Bellona and nobody else- not my elder brother, not my parents, not even Clara anymore. Quickly finishing up my own breakfast, I dart upstairs to my room.

Choosing out clothes has never been the highlight of my day. Normally for me, it's a tight, sold colored tee (once in a blue moon, it will have stripes on it) and pants that allow me to move around. Shoes are basically black sneakers or black boots, each with a thick rubber grip on the bottom. I also allow myself to wear jewelry on days I do not go immediately to the training center, such as elaborately done silver necklaces or topaz stud earrings.

But today, of course, is different. This is a year I just might volunteer. The other six years I was like most other girls for Two, the ones that weren't insane with the idea of volunteering- staring dejectedly, bored, at the stage, waiting for the dope that would eventually go into the deathcage.

This year, though. I think I seriously could have a winning shot.

That, and my father would force me with terrible threats if I even showed the _slightest_ bit of not agreeing to do his bidding.

I shake my head and select a mustardy yellow skirt. Ugly. I sift through the contents of my closet until I find my favorite, dark denim skirt. Unfortunately it has become too small and short, not even sliding up my slim hips. Sadly it joins the pile consisting of old or ugly clothes, the yellow skirt included.

Over a longer period of time the pile grows. Onto it is added a "retro" magenta pair of slacks, a too-short silvery skirt, a navy cashmere sweater with a plunging collar, and three pairs of Bellona's leather jackets. _How did those get there?_

In the end, I finally choose an elegant periwinkle blouse, a ruffled white skirt, and a pair of powder blue pumps. I decide against them, as I'm going to need to dash up to the stage if I really want to volunteer. Instead I slip on a pair of white, flat-bottomed boots that reach just above my ankles.

As I examine my appearance in the head-to-toe mirror, a smile flashes briefly over my chin. I know that if I really tried, I could be beautiful.

If I tried.

**Slate Bessarion, 17**

Ryker grins as Caesar and Claudia pinch each other roughly, the front yard growing with their shrieks.

"Every morning's like this, ain't it?" he jovially asks.

"All the time," I grumble. "Honestly, Mom should have just stopped with me."

My shaggy-haired friend, still smiling faintly, shrugs. "I dunno, Slay. They could be good contenders one day."

"And die in the bloodbath," I sing out.

Ryker watches as they stab each other with foam swords. "Hard to believe they're only eight. You teach 'em this, Slay?"

"Nah, they just watch the TV."

We leave the Victor's Village laughing.

Yes, I know. Dad's a victor, still top of his prime. His name is Dax. Around sixty years old and still hasn't fallen victim to alcohol, morphling, or any other truck like that. I try not to make it known to people, otherwise they focus on him and his victories instead of me.

"Ready to train?"

Two hours later, we're both panting heavily as we course down a race-track with four other teenage guys, each neck-in-neck for first.

The white finish line in sigh, I sprint forward and throw myself over it. Ryker follows my lead and collapses on top of me.

"D'we make it?" I wheeze.

"And in first place, Slate Bessarion!" Ryker announces playfully, his red face slowly diminishing to tan.

We jog back to our bags to grab some water when my phone buzzes. "Hang on," I mutter to Ryker, checking the smooth glass screen. Amazing… this is Artemis, my girlfriend who disappeared for nearly nine months!

"Artemis? God, I've missed you SO much! Where've you been?" I begin to choke up and Ryker leans in intently to try and eavesdrop.

The small voice in the phone is weak, scared, and somewhat shaky. "Slate… you're a father."

"_Graaa," coos Deyanira, her small pinkish head growing redder as Artemis tried to force a little mashed squash down her. "Booooo."_

_Artemis, her straight brown hair tied up in a messy (yet somewhat shabby-gorgeous) bun, heaves a thick sigh and shrugs. "Slate," she complains, "Can you try to feed her? She doesn't listen to me."_

_I smirk, taking the plastic spoon from her hand and bending over the crying child. I scoop up half a spoonful of not squash but crushed strawberries, and immediately Deya's brown eyes focus in on those. Her pert pink lips part to allow the berries entrance. _

"_How do you do it?" my girlfriend asks in awe as I feed Deya more and more. _

"_Much practice," I purr, leaning in for a kiss._

If only that could happen now.

I stare numbly at Artemis, whose face is blushing desperately. Deya is fast asleep, head resting on her shoulder.

"I'm a father?" I repeat.

"Don't take this the hard way," sniffles Artemis. "I didn't want to… I mean, when I disappeared… Slate…"

I gnaw on the piece of wood protruding from my mouth rapidly until it's reduced to a mass of stringiness. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

My girlfriend's puffy pink eyes gaze back at me sadly.

My eyes flicker to the breathing being that is resting on her torso before I declare loudly, "I'm volunteering. I'll come back and we can start anew together."

"Slate!" she gasps, tears flooding her doe-like velvety eyes.

"No if's, and's, or but's," I tell her in a hushed tone. "I'll come back. Victorious. Deya, you, and I, can live together and we'll be richer than anything. I have to."

"Can't you wait until next year?" her voice cracks.

"Deya needs to be taken care of now." My hand strokes along the soft skin of the infant's ear. My face hardens with steely determination, set by paternal love. "I love you too much not to."

Artemis glances down at the napping baby, then back up to me. "Promise me," she whispers quietly, "if you do get in… you'll win."

"Promise."

**Valeria Powers, 27, District Two escort**

I'm well known as the youngest escort around. There might be another from an outlier district, but they don't matter until they've gotten at least into Five or Four. Anyways, back to me. Youngest escort around and definitely the perkiest. I have seen the ups and downs of District Two and of course lived to tell about it. I'm native to this district. On a field trip to the Capitol I became _very_ interested in this business and decided to pursue it.

And that, of course, is how I'm standing– well, rather, sitting– here today. I'm sitting quietly, much like a sweet little mouse, just watching the Treaty of Treason video. Not the best one, I'll admit. I definitely could have created a better one. But who am I to complain?

The final musical chord ends and the sorrowful voice that narrates it dies down. Wonderful! Eager to begin, I jump up from my chair and nod at the two mentors- Enobaria and Brutus, who was brought back because the most recent victor other than Enobaria turned to alcohol. They each nod back, Enobaria baring her fangs at me a bit.

I skitter over to the microphone on my toes and speak with barely contained excitement into the microphone. "Now we draw the lucky, wonderful tributes from District Two! As usual, we'll go ladies first."

My hand goes into the girls' Reaping bowl and immediately there's a rush coming from the seventeen and eighteen year olds. An eighteen-year-old from the front dashes up the stairs, nearly tripping when a girl snatches her shoe.

This girl is _abnormally_ beautiful for her district with long chestnut hair that rivals mine and icy blue eyes. "I volunteer," she says at last after staring at me with hardened irises. "My name is Serafina Aegis."

"Wonderful," I trill, beaming widely at the female. "Now let's pick your wonderful district partner!"

Into the bowl goes my long orange and pink nails, and out of the sea of boys comes lots of shouts, grunts, and hollers, each trying to run the gauntlet eagerly. One overpowers the other, his black pompadour the most striking thing as he mounts the stairs to the stage.

"Slate Bessarion," he pants, smoothing down his cream sweater and gnawing on… a toothpick. Wonderful.

"And here we have Slate and Serafina, your _wonderful_ tributes for District Two!" I'm ecstatic with joy as I dig my high heels into the ground. "Would you two shake hands?"

Serafina wrinkles her nose as she accepts Slate's overly exaggerated movements. I can tell that she's not used to males- or perhaps just dislikes them?

Whatever her reason, I can tell that this year is going to be absolutely _wonderful_.

**A/N:**

**Like Yesterday by Luke Conard.**

** Aaaaaaand there we have it. Thanks to BamItsTyler for wonderful Slate Bessarion, and I'm very sorry to the other submitters that sent in Two males… to be honest, I connected with most of them, but some just didn't work for me. I narrowed them down, and finally decided on this one. Sorry, again.**

**And if I type the word "wonderful" one more time my fingers will fall off.**

**ANYWAYS. We have a full set of tributes. Here they are one more time, this time completed!**

**District One-**

**Male- Brucite Gergeon **

_**Bruce, a muscled man with a wicked ability to swing maces, has volunteered. Will his vainness work in his favor, or, like most, will the odds never be in his favor?**_

**Female- Constance von Trapp**

_**The murderous female from District One went calmly up to the stage before the girls even began to be Reaped. Few know what happened to her sister, but she shrugged it off. Her intelligence is strong, but is her will?**_

**District Two-**

**Male- Slate Bessarion**

_**A newly chosen father with experience with kids… Slate's not your average guy. He'll do anything to benefit Artemis and little Deya, even if it means sacrificing himself in that arena.**_

**Female- Serafina Aegis**

_**After recovering from a very rocky relationship, Serafina's icy and unemotional nature will be tested when the arena shoves her around for yet another adventure.**_

**District Three**

**Male- Arthur Augustus**

_**Although never diagnosed fully, Arthur's ADHD has never brought him down. If anything, it's made him more chipper than anything. Will the broad beam on his face fade once he rises on the arena plate?**_

**Female- Alessandra Balis **

_**Alessandra's better than everyone, and she knows it. After all, it wasn't her fault that she had to be relocated to the run-down neighborhood of Three. Her training as a District Two girl might just come in handy…**_

**District Four-**

**Male- Percy Brizo**

_**Percy hasn't had a particularly hard life. There's always been the sea. Girl problems? Swim in the sea. Reaping issues coming down hard on his best friend?... Well, the sea can't solve everything.**_

**Female- Coral Fisher**

_**Leaving behind Kai, her brother, was hard enough. Having to be one in the most respected alliance will take this sweet girl some getting used to.**_

**District Five-**

**Male- Alister Rain**

_**If he doesn't come home to Talon, she'll murder him again. His drive to win is so desperate and deep it keeps him up at night, gripping his bedsheets with his palms sweating madly.**_

**Female- Lux Sephina**

_**Lux has never been the outsider. She's always had enough to eat, a warm bed, and loving parents. That was then, and this is now. And now is the Reaping. **_

**District Six- **

**Male- Francis Theroux**

_**Oddball. Loner. Artistic freak. You name it, Francis has been called them all. His prophetic visions don't help the matter that is now his own hell. A mixture of unpleasant traits, this male will do anything for his art.**_

**Female- Jinx Tesatsu**

_**To put this bluntly, Jinx is a sadist. Cue the gasps of horror, the confused faces. She knows that you hate her already… Why else would she be a cruel, murderous girl that has only felt hate, never passion?**_

**District Seven-**

**Male- Ben Mchon**

_**Young Ben is, to say this lightly, a lazy one. Although his physical is overall not hard-working, the cogs in his brain spin quickly. Maybe the arena is just what he needs to get back on his feet.**_

**Female- Leaf Ender**

_**Leaf was an accident. The orphanage battered her around so her ribs show prominent as chicken bones and her emotional tendencies increased as an effect. Will the arena provide a calming period for her?**_

**District Eight-**

**Male- Camo Russo**

_**Though never seen without a gum bubble slowly extending outside his lips, this boy is not quirky or hipster. He doesn't fit into any label, actually. He's more like… trapped.**_

**Female- Willa Seamstress**

_**Willa's a born leader and she's NOT afraid to say so. Her outspoken nature, though admired by many, is sometimes a bit much. Will it get her far in the arena?**_

**District Nine-**

**Male- Cohush Nigrum**

_**The son of a healer, Cohush has seen it all- decaying bodies, dead women, crying men… All of these painful sights will never have prepared him for the bloodbath known as the Hunger Games.**_

**Female- Alexis Tress**

_**Once she's put her sun-streaked hair in her signature high ponytail, Alexis will be ready for anything. Anything used to mean her studies, focusing on wheat production, and boys. Now it means surviving in the harshest arena yet.**_

**District Ten-**

**Male- Nubu Chandlers**

_**Nubu has a secret and he's not trusting anybody to keep it. This boy is always in a cloud of mystery that shrouds him closer than a warm robe, yet his kindness beams through as a ray of light.**_

**Female- Savanna Poppet**

_**Quirky author Savanna's life flipped upside down when her not-so-secret crush Elijah Bruno was Reaped for the 68**__**th**__** Hunger Games. She saw what it did to him and now, at 18, she'll have to endure that hell as well.**_

**District Eleven-**

**Male- Bark Umbral**

_**Sure. Call Bark antisocial. If you do, you'll get a flurry of fists from his protective best friend, Murray. But not even Murray can protect Bark from the fate that draws him into the arena.**_

**Female- Nessa Aoki **

_**She's observed everybody and everything. Conspicuous, one might say. Reserved. But now she's been thrown upon a pedestal for the entire region of Panem for watch her every move.**_

**District Twelve-**

**Male- Surtr Kayhiv**

_**Touch-sensitive with a knack for befriending. A huge heart with a shriveled trust organ. Bubbly and loving, yet covert and neurotic. Surtr's a mixture of all things bad and good. Or so it seems…**_

**Female- Annabell Berry**

_**Selfless Annabell the "failure" is put to the test when she is Reaped. Her world doesn't just turn upside down, it does insane backflips and angry rampages. And yet Annabell keeps mum.**_

**QUESTION TIME! xD**

**Which of these two tributes stood out to you more? Why?**

**Do you see any alliances forming based on the tributes personalities?**

**Which 5 tributes are you completely neutral to and why?**


	4. 3 A Fool's Dance

_**Who am I? Who are you?**_

_**Who are we anymore?**_

**Arthur Augustus, 16**

Yawning, I casually roll out of my quirky orange and blue duvet. With a thud, my lumbering body falls onto the hardwood floor and I let out a shriek.

My little sister darts into my room, adjusting her lavender frames around her huge eyes. "Arthur? You okay?"

I smile up blearily at her. "Fine, Rhiannon."

"Don't call me that," she mutters, tucking a lock of perfectly straight blond hair behind her pert ear. Perking up a little, she says crossly, "You're up late. Two hours, to be exact."

"Really?" My eyes grow comically wide and I dart over to her, sliding on my flannel-pajama-covered knees. "Oh, please, Rhia! I'm so terribly _sorry_ that I have betrayed you by waking up late!"

My sister knows when she's being mocked, and she sure doesn't like it. "Breakfast is on the table," she huffily replies, slightly implying that I'm, again, the village idiot. "Fried eggs and toast. Eat up before it gets cold."

I slump back onto the floor and watch her tiny form strut out quietly. Once she's gone, quickly do I shut and lock my door. My arm scrabbles for the familiar roll of paper that I know will always be there, waiting.

Somewhat stealthily, I spread it over my dust-covered desk and pull out a pencil from the drawer. My eyes study over the sheet and, like clockwork, slowly shade in a couple circles. It's _nearly_ perfect, yet it still needs _something_. I really don't know where I'd get this final item, as we sure don't have any in our house… unless Rhiannon is maturing more than I thought. Well… come to think of it, I guess we have some. But my mother is not somebody I take objects from to do things like this.

I carefully etch the outline on the corner of the paper, my eyes constantly straying away from the paper. Each time this happens I force them back on, but seconds later my hand begins to quiver insanely and my brain begs to do something else.

This has taken months to plan because of my 'disability,' and every time I do something else I regret it later. As today is the Reaping and I sure could be Reaped (tesserae has been plentiful around this house all the years I have been in those bowls) I might not have another chance to plan this. Taking a swig of carbonated water, I avert my eyes to the large scroll in front of me. I make sure that they don't stray to the small figurines that parade around my desk. No, that would not be good.

Suddenly an idea springs into my head and it's welcomed by my tangled array of thoughts. Celinia. Of course.

With great care, I enclose a rubber band over the blueprint and gently push it under my bed. I throw on a random outfit- a red plaid flannel shirt and my average grey pants- and skitter down the stairs like I'm on a caffeine rush.

"Eggs on the table!" Rhia mutters as I dash past.

Mother and Father make me sit down and choke down a couple bites of bread and an egg before I can leave. They're so strict with me. It's obvious that they don't admire my jittery spirit, but they clearly favor Rhiannon over me. Although this development sometimes gets me down, I always brighten up when I see them. I truly do love them, despite this fact.

Celinia's house is not too far away from mine- in fact, it's right across the street. Her grumpy grandfather opens the door, and as usual he asks in his creaky voice if I'm planning any 'hanky-panky' with his granddaughter. As always, I respond with a bright, "No, sir! Just a bit of _fun_, if you know what I mean." and a wink, then I march past him. Ah, do I ever love our routine.

I find my friend arguing with her parents. Her tall form towers over them, and it's obvious that she will win this small battle of words. I lean against the doorframe of the living room and observe this quietly.

"Mum," Celinia says in a barely reserved tone, "I had to. Ever since Dad lost his job there's barely been any food in the fridge. You have to have noticed that, Mum."

Her mother, a short lady with a mess of red curls on her head, growls and spits something out before storming to the kitchen, giving me a wild nod as she scoots past.

Celinia's father looks at her, then her daughter, before sighing heavily and lumbering outside.

"What was that all about?" I ask Celinia as she flops down on an armchair.

"God, Mum's all upset because I took two things of tesserae. It's not like I'm taking, say, seventeen or anything like the other people at school."

I offer up a crooked smile. "You could've said that I took out five this year only."

"Don't you think I mentioned that?" she sighs, running long nails through her silky red hair. "Whatever. It's all said and done, anyways."

I nod, glancing to the grandfather that still looms eerily by the front door. I turn back to Celinia.

"Your grandpa is stalking us."

"He's just worried you'll try to kiss me or something," she grumbles, hopping up and guiding her grandfather to the bathroom. "Grandpa, try to get those figs through your system." Yuck.

"I need something," I tell her in a hushed tone once she sits back down.

"Yeah?"

"Do you, by any chance, have a… ahem…." I blush and whisper the words to her.

"Um…. Sort of personal there, Arthur."

I grin loopily. "For a prank. What else?"

Celinia beams once I say that, always a supportive fan of my tricks. "Oh, sure then! Who are you pranking?"

"My parents. I've been planning it for months."

"Wow. Is this, like, the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle?"

"Jigsaw puzzle piece, conductor wire to a light bulb, the seventh day to a week," I singsong. "Virtually, yep!"

An hour later, I nod to Celinia, who's crouching behind my sofa. "Ready to witness the best prank in the history of jokes and madness?"

"Ready," she replies eagerly.

I clear my throat dramatically before shouting out frantically, "MOM! DAD! RHIA! COME _QUICK_, GUYS!"

They rush in so quickly, I have nearly no time to pull the cord.

Out of a wicker basket above their heads dumps exactly seven bags of white flour (found in the bin behind the bakery), two cartons of eggshells (from my eggshell collection), a couple squirts of vinegar (from our pantry), and nearly an entire drawer full of female undergarments. Rhia skids on the butter that I have slathered generously over the floor, coming to a stop just in front of me.

"_ARRRRTHUUUUURRRR_!" she shrieks, plucking an eggshell from her hair. "I JUST GOT MY OUTFIT ON!"

Still I smile good-naturedly, offering up a moist towelette.

Celinia can't stop laughing.

**Alessandra Balis, 15**

"Christof? Are you doing alright?"

"No," my brother chokes out, his laughing easily consuming his ability to speak. I smirk from behind my coffee mug.

"Did you tell him another joke, Sandra?" my mother's small brown eyes fixate on me and I feel like a deer in headlights. I know that my mom does not approve of my telling Christof jokes, not when he's supposed to have had a strict upbringing.

"Erm…" I stall for time by pretending to cough on my coffee. "Wrong… (HACK) pipe…. (COUGH, COUGH, COUGH,)… need…. Water… GAG!"

Mom puts her hands on her hips, eyebrows joining together in the middle. "I expect you to tell me the truth," she tells me quietly.

"I was choking, Mom! Seriously!" I protest, hoping this argument doesn't sound weak to the one I want to impress- Christof.

"Say you _were_ choking. There's no coffee left in the coffee mug."

I peer down into the cup. She's right. There's just a bit of sugar that remains in a tiny mountain on the bottom, the granules melting together at a snail's pace. "That's because I drank it all as I choked."

We get into this long fight about how I need to tell the truth. Stop lying. Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag. It's always like this. My mother and I have never been very close, and this is almost the only time we talk– when we argue. Not the best relationship, I'll admit. Once nineteen-year-old Christof gets his own house I'm totally moving in with him.

Eventually she lets me go after I apologize around sixty times. Delighted, I convince my big brother to take a walk in the forest behind our house.

Sunlight peeks through the high, twisted branches of the trees. I gaze up at it fondly, watching the yellow beams shine onto the grassy ground. This forest is one of just a handful in Three, where any signs of plant life is pretty rare. There was a rumor that the house we moved into was actually haunted, which is how Mom got it on the cheap.

Let me explain something here. I'm actually a native to District Two, not this power plant district. I trained just like other kids, with fencing and throwing knives and all that stuff. For some reason that has yet to be explained to me, all of a sudden we packed up and left. I never even got to bid farewell to my one true love, Ryan Maxius.

Ryan was everything I wasn't. He was exciting, dangerous, and older than me. Whenever we went out I got a burst of thrilled adrenaline that rushed from the roots of my wispy blond hair down to the molars in my mouth to my perfectly kept nails to my small feet. I loved the sense of aloofness I got when we went out, the evil looks that other fifteen-year-olds gave me.

And there is _nobody_, n-o-b-o-d-y in this run-down district that could ever compare to that special guy! These boys are all geeks with acne and glasses. Ryan was handsome, with a deep brunette quiff and soulful chocolate-colored eyes that sparkled whenever we talked. The males here are skinny, with bony elbows and hairy legs. Ryan had muscles, abs and toned biceps. The guys here also don't have Ryan's amazing sense of humor. They think a technical fault is hilarious, while a slightly perverted joke is confusing. Ryan made the best jokes ever and always kept a person smiling, even if he had just dissed them.

Am I obsessing much? What can I say. Ryan was the best thing to ever happen to me, and I just _abandoned_ him!

He also was my only true friend. Well, he was more of a boyfriend, but still. Here I found Mae Long, who's bubbly and flirty just like me, except she's sort of a nerd like the rest in Three. Her raven hair is always matted and in a loose ponytail, while her mud-colored eyes have nothing but a dull sheen, like that of a copper pot.

_Me_, however. I believe firmly that I am the most beautiful creature ever to walk the streets of Three. I have blond hair that radiates light, similar to that of an angel's. my grey eyes shine like silver, with two perfect black pupils floating in each of them. My milky, pale skin is cream colored and very attractive. I'm also different in that I am actually muscular, not scrawny. Plus, I have a ton of freckles from being in the woods so much. Everyone else has yet to even get a tan.

Whoops. Christof's talking. I probably shouldn't admire myself so much.

"Alessandra, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah," I say off-handedly, picking up a leaf and pretending to examine all the light lime green veins that course throughout it.

"Would you please answer my question, then?"

I'm caught in his steely gaze with no idea what he's just said. "Um… my answer is no?"

He relaxes visibly. "Good. Tesserae is sort of pointless when we're this well off. Though it might seem like a good idea at the time, many tributes get picked from their tesserae slips alone."

"Right." He must have asked if I had taken tesserae. Well, my answer is a resounding '_never'_.

"Although when I was walking to my job the other day, I did see your friend… Mae, is it?"

"Yes," I say reluctantly, starting to nibble my lip.

"I saw her walking into the Justice Building. Now, if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was withdrawing some for her family. Crazy, right?"

"Pssh, yeah. Really crazy," I agree, lying to his face.

"So I waved her down. Said hello. You know, I was being all friendly-like."

"Kay," I reply, sweat beading on my brow rapidly. I continue munching on my lip.

"She said she didn't recognize me and ran in so fast I nearly saw smoke on her heels. Do you have any idea why Mae would act like this?"

"Why do you care?" I bleat out. "She's _my_ friend, not _yours_. Why do you, or, um, it's not your, um, what do you think, I mean…" I tend to get my words mixed up very easily when I'm heated up about something, and this was definitely one of those times.

"I care," Christof says quietly, "because she is your best friend and I thought I'd let you know that she was probably taking tesserae."

Mae's family flashes through my mind, and I blanche. Four little brothers, all of which were not even eligible to be in the Reaping. Two parents. All with hungry mouths that craved food, starved most nights because her mother lacked a stable job.

"She'd _never_ do that," I squeak out, gnawing on my lip repeatedly. It's raw by now.

"I _know_ what I saw. I think she probably was too _embarrassed_ to say hello because she was taking it."

"But… Mae… Christof!"

He offers me a weak smile before disappearing into the yard, leaving me standing dumbfounded, leaning against a tree.

**Phosphate Jaded, 49, District Three escort**

I ask for a good district and they give me _Three_. Um, ahem. Three is one of the worst districts. They've had four victors. Wiress, Beetee, and… um… two others. They both are dead. I forget their names. But they've had only four victors. Honestly, you might as well give me Twelve again. At least in Twelve it wasn't so _hot_ all the time. Here in Three, electricity is constantly burning, and smog clouds around the greasy, slimy town block. It's _insane_!

Eleven was worse, I guess. There are Peacekeepers constantly glaring at you menacingly, the odor of death that swarms the place, and the way the children always make you feel guilty when you call their name out, what with their huge, sunken eyes and unpleasant disposition.

Then there was the best district I've ever gotten, Seven. It smelled delightful, like a pine forest, and the air was always so fresh. Most of the kids that are Reaped are handy with an axe, which produces some mighty fine victors. I stayed there for six years until, without warning, I was downgraded to Five. Basically like Three, which is why I asked for a promotion.

Needless to say, this district is not a "promotion". I was expecting Four.

"You're on," Beetee says anxiously, his huge brown eyes blinking neurotically.

"I _know_, Beetee," I snap, smoothing down my dress slacks and adjusting my glittering top hat. "The Treaty of Treason has just ended. Therefore, of course I have to go up there, you absolute dolt! _Common sense!_"

The children in the crowd seem almost as apprehensive as I am. If I flub this up, I can kiss my promotion to Four, One, or even Two goodbye.

"Let's mix things up a bit and go men first," I call out in my deep baritone. The Reaping Bowl is ominous, glaring out at the sea of high-strung boys.

I pluck a slip from the top, eyes peering down slyly. "Arthur Augustus!"

A huge-eyed guy with fluffy brown hair from the sixteen-year-old section dashes up to the stage as if his life depends on it. As he runs, I hear noticeable sighs as the others accept that they have survived another Reaping.

"What did I win?" he asks eagerly as he takes the steps two at a time.

"Wha… what?"

"What. Did. I. Win?" Arthur grins cheekily, eyeing me up suspiciously. "There is a prize, right?"

I blink a couple times, certainly not expecting this display. "Well… you win a one-way trip to our fantastical arena, Arthur."

"Awesome!" he cheers, hugging me tightly. After this, Arthur begins to do a small dance consisting of many puffs of the chest and flailing of the arms.

"Arthur!" I hiss from my fake smile as I amble over to the female's bowl. "Stop that immediately!"

The face he makes next is so sad that Wiress and Beetee both glare at me murderously. I didn't even know that adults from Three could have expressions like that.

Still grinning widely, I traipsed over to the second glass bowl. This time, I plunge my arm in and swipe a paper slip off the bottom. "Alessandra Balis."

A girl from the fifteen-year-olds descends from the herd quickly. She stumbles a little on the steps, but manages to catch herself and even throw on a quirky, self-assured face. Unlike most of the children here, she has beautiful, long blond hair. Interesting.

I gesture to the two that stand, side by side, their faces each identical to that of a cherub. Well, nearly. "District Three's tributes, Arthur Augustus and Alessandra Balis!"

**A/N:**

**A Fool's Dance by Phillip Phillips.**

**Well, well, well. I really adore these two tributes. :-) It's time for… a short Author's Note! I don't really have much to say, except when I got off the plane, my ears still have NOT popped. So I'm a bit deaf until they do decide to. Hmph.**

**Oh, and by the way. I expect every submitter to review at LEAST every other chapter, otherwise you can wave farewell to your tribute. Not all the Reapings have started. It was part of the rules and guidelines! Honestly, if you're not going to even review every two chapters then I might as well pick somebody's who WILL review. Sorry for the outburst, I'm just sort of upset that only about a third of submitters are reviewing. But believe me, I WILL delete your tribute. :/ I'm dead serious.**

**QUESTION TIME (TO BE PUT IN YOUR REVIEWS!)**

**Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**Out of all the tributes, District One through Three, who has been your favorite so far and why?**

**Out of these tributes, which has been your LEAST favorite and why?**

**What do you think the arena will be?**


	5. 4 Little Talks

_**Some days I can't even trust myself**_

**Coral Fisher, 17**

The brackish water splashes up on my sandy feet and I heave a sigh, swishing my fingers around aimlessly. I hear him giggling, laughing as he falls back into the sea.

"Come, Cora! Come, come!"

I force a smile, getting him to giggle insanely. Kai.

"I have to go to work," I tell him softly, caressing his smooth cheek with my knuckles.

"Then we can play?"

Tears stain my eyes, and I blink them away. "_No_," I struggle with the word. "After work is… the Reaping. Right after work. I won't get to see you until after the Reaping."

Kai's face is conflicted, his intelligent eyes linking with mine and silently questioning me. "But I want to play." He pouts.

I breathe in heavily throughout my mouth, eyes flickering to the cliffs where I dive. "I guess you could come with me. I mean, it's not like your first time diving with m-me."

Kai applauds quickly, frantically. "_Yes_," he approves quickly. "I want that!"

I enclose his small hand in mine and, together in our matching black and teal wetsuits, we make our way up the winding cliff to meet Dad.

His extremely dark skin crinkles up into a grin as his eyes meet mine. I offer up a humble nod, and gesture over to Kai, who is currently licking a pebble inquisitively.

"Kai's going to dive with me," I say.

Dad immediately shakes his head. "He's just four," he protests. "Coral, what are you thinking?"

My tongue the texture of dry sandpaper, I quickly resort to throwing my hand protectively over Kai's shoulders. "He's been swimming for nearly three years now," I argue, my ears growing hot and my throat tightening rapidly. "and if he gets too scared he can easily back out. Come on, Dad. I've done this forever, and it's totally safe! I'll even dive with him if you want me to."

"But that's not safe."

"See?" I cry out triumphantly, beaming at Kai. "You said that me diving with him's not safe. But if we dive separately, then maybe-"

"Coral," my dad's voice thunders. "No means no!"

I freeze in the middle of my sentence, then peer over discreetly at Kai. His face is sorrowful, eyes casted down.

"Don't worry, bud," I whisper. "I'll let you dive with me, even if it breaks his rules."

Kai and I chill out, sprawled close to the edge of the cliff. We drink lemonade and have sardines for breakfast. Kai is very particular about which small fish he chooses to next eat, which makes me giggle a bit. The rotten or imperfect ones we toss over and watch for thirty seconds as it makes its descent into the diving water. Some lemonade occasionally gets sloshed over the edge, as well.

It's all so perfect, this distraction, that I don't think once about the Reaping. Not once.

Dad leaves after about an hour to check on the merchant section of the seamount, which is nearly a forty-five minute walk one way. Kai and I will have nearly three hours if all goes well.

Once his bobbing head and quirky tan fishing cap is out of both our sights, my brother immediately begins giggling and clapping. "Dive, dive!"

"Are you sure you want to? It's a long ways down, and you'll have to go in the pike position. You remember that, right?"

"Yes," the chubby-cheeked boy says solemnly, his sea green eyes peering over the salty lagoon. "In arms, in legs."

I'm guessing that that means 'fold your arms in close to your torso, straighten your legs, and point your toes to face the sky'. "Good. Do you want to go separately or together?"

"Both." 

"Kay, then," I tell him, cracking a smile. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah!"

We stand, about three feet apart, backs facing the water. I lean backwards first, and Kai follows a bit hesitantly. For seconds we're reforming our limber bodies in the pike position, and we each let out long yodels of cheer. Kai's hair ruffles in the wind, as does mine, and suddenly I'm deep underwater. My outstretched fingers barely graze the sand and mud mixture at the bottom before I flip over and propel myself up. My eyelids snap open and I see Kai repeating this action.

The glassy surface breaks with a quick splash, and I gasp for air, which welcomes me. I wait for Kai to resurface, and eventually he does. He takes a quick nip of oxygen before pushing himself back under, where he plays on and on and on for so long.

I float over to the sandy lagoon's coast and pretend I'm being washed up shore. My hair grazes my elbows. My eyelashes and eyebrows all have tiny granules of sand woven in from the dive, and I bring a hand up to wipe them away.

If only today wasn't the Reaping, which I so dread.

**Percy Brizo, 17**

I usually can rely on the sea for anything. If I have girl troubles, I swim out and the water answers all my questions. If I'm in a feud with my best friend, I idly trace circles in the sand until it tells me solutions. But telling him and my family about volunteering? Heck, that's going to take a lot more than the sea to fix.

Well, come to think of it, I've already told my family. My dad in particular was the one driving me to volunteer. He was rather happy when I told him I'd try- but no guarantees- to make it up to that stage. Inwardly I sort of hope that the escort will skip over me. But I know that with my "dashing" looks, as my mother puts it, I have a better chance than many.

I just don't want to leave here, the beautiful place of Four. I mean, it's heaven here. Every morning I wake up to find the curtains billowing in a sea breeze, smell the salty air bristling at my nose, watch the green waves foam up on the sandy tan shore and retreat into a bed of foamy white. Routine, basically. I know that every day the waves will smash onto the coast, and the wind will whistle through the planks of our house, and that there will be brackish air running everywhere. I know that.

Aside from just the scenery alone, the people here are so diverse. I mean, really different. There's not just the average ones, like dark-skinned, wiry tributes from Eleven or almond-shaped eyes and pale skin from Three. I guess you could say that our "average" tribute has emerald eyes, tanned skin, and tousled brown hair. I guess you could say that. But in reality, there's a whole new planet here that you have to explore. There's those who are so tan that they appear to be brown-haired people from Eleven. There are those with freckles coating their faces, so they are polka-dotted-skinned. There are those, like me, with salty brown hair and cheeky smirks. There are also the "sirens"- _vixens_, I call them- with straight blond hair and dimples. And then there are the ugly fishermen with large front teeth and red skin, with sagging cheek skin and loose arms. The unpleasant to look at.

And if you need more description on why Four is heaven… Just look around! There are peaked seamounts owned by one family, a family per mountain, that have bustling trade and amazing economies. They arrive by ferry and leave, happy. There are inns and markets, parks and beaches on those mounts. My biggest dream ever is to own one, but sadly I don't believe that would ever be fulfilled. My family's not the _richest_, per say.

But that will all change if I win; all I can hope to do is keep a positive outlook on the situation.

"Percy! _Percy_!"

"Mom?"

"Come downstairs! Your father wants to talk to you."

I descend the crooked driftwood-planked stairs quickly, my eyes dashing furtively between my two parents. "Yes?"

My father raises his chin haughtily. "You are volunteering this year."

I sneak a peek at my mother, who's currently dabbing at her eyes with a periwinkle handkerchief. "I… I am."

"So you've decided, then?" my father nods twice, curtly. "Good. Off with you, then. Leave."

"Jake, the boy hasn't even had breakfast!" my mother lets out a short cry, lightly patting my shoulder. "Come on, Percy. I have leftover fish stew and fruit for you."

I take my usual spot at the picnic table on our patio, the one that looks out to the gnashing, changing aqua waves. Bowls of assorted fruits, like she said, and a ceramic pot full of greying trout stew lie in front of me. I pluck a few red grapes from a dish and roll them around my fingers absentmindedly.

My mother rushes out from the house, scampers down the stairs to meet me, and says quickly, "Your friend is coming over. Grover. I'll have him out here, for a warm meal with you. Heaven knows what that boy eats, bless him!"

I shrug, popping the circular fruit in my mouth. "Sounds cool to me, Mom."

Minutes later, my lanky blond friend is stuffing himself full of strawberries dunked in syrup, smacking his lips and proclaiming how wonderful it is. "I don't have stuff like this at my place. For me, it's always rice, rice, rice, and herring, yellowtail, perch. Anything we catch, plus rice and milk. Nothin' else! I tell you, Perce, you people have the life."

"You're chatty today," I comment blatantly.

"Aren't I always?" he chuckles nodding his head frantically, causing his thick-rimmed glasses to fall in his bowl of fish stew.

I reach over and fish them out, cheeks reddening slightly over what I'm about to tell him. "Are you going to volunteer?" I stall.

Grover stares up at me with wide eyes. "Totally not!" he screeches in a strangely immature voice. "Percy, you'd have to be half insane to want to go in the Hunger Games. I mean, you could die!"

"Right…." Feeling especially bad now, my throat twists itself into a complicated knot and sits there. I wipe his glasses off on my brick red shirt carefully.

"Um… Grover?"

"Yeah, Percy?"

"I'm volunteering today." Before he can say anything else, I jump up and begin shouting, overcome by amazingly fierce emotion. "It's not me, it's my dad. He's greedy, Grover, and he thinks I can win and we'd be so frigging rich that he could buy tons of seamounts and create this huge business empire, but really he can't and you and I both know that, but I so want to get him off my back and just-" I pause to gulp down a lungful or two of air- "want to live my own LIFE!"

Grover stares at me, creating this feeling of black betrayal, and I don't trust myself to say anymore. I swipe at my eyes with my sleeve and begin blowing on a spoonful of hot fish soup.

Finally, after what seems like seventeen eternities, I hear his familiar voice, crumbling. "Remember the pact?"

I cast my eyes down at the bowls of fruit and stew. Yes, I remember the pact. We made it when we were younger, twelve or thirteen at least. It was a very hot day of the Reaping and we were here on my patio. Grover was cramming himself full of breakfast- broiled haddock and fruit, if I remember correctly- and I was desperately gulping down cold tea in an effort to freeze my insides, which were cooking.

I remember something happened, like I joked that I would volunteer or something. Grover, younger than me by a year and not quite fully understanding that this was humorous, leapt into this great big speech about how that arena would be the end of all of the tributes but one, and that one would be a cold-hearted murderer who would die alone. I remember he took this dead serious.

I also recall that he pulled out this crinkly cream-colored, blue-lined paper and began scrawling a note out on it. His handwriting eligible, yet somehow I knew exactly what it said. He made me sign it. We both stabbed our fingers with a safety pin and pressed them to the paper, creating a few small red dots. That pact, signed with blood, said that never in the future of our friendship would we volunteer for the Games.

And now here I was, four or five years later, saying exactly the opposite. Grover, still a kid at heart, of course would take this the wrong way.

"I remember," I croak out.

He looks at me with strangely savage eyes. "Good."

He leaves, then.

**Periwinkle Medium, 32, District Four escort**

Feeling the humid air rush over my exposed skin is so refreshing. The smell isn't the best- like burnt fish and damp metal- but it doesn't matter… much. It's much better than the outlier districts. I'm actually quite lucky to have Four for the third time in a row. It's always in demand.

I pat my excessively curly hair, scanning over the sea- get it?- of anxious children. I see some good contenders in there, yes. There's a fierce-looking girl with lustrous blond hair tied up in a messy bun. Her eyes, green like most, glare at the screen that's presenting the Treaty of Treason. Her hands clench the velvety rope that separates the crowd from the stage.

There are four or five boys in the eighteen-year-old section with bulging muscles, obviously just waiting to shove weaklings out of the way. Currently, they're laughing obnoxiously, not at all paying attention to the presentation. Oh, well. Once I coach one, he'll be perfect!

I watch until the credits fade out, and with shaky arms I clumsily pat the newest victor, Annie Cresta, on the crown of her head. She recoils quickly, her eyes huge and frightened. She tugs at her light pink dress to make it cover her knee, and with a comforting arm Finnick Odair rubs her shoulder.

Touching, really.

Holding my head high, I strut to the microphone. I bat my glittering green eyelashes for the crowd as I speak with my sweet, suave voice- "Ladies first!"

There actually doesn't seem to be a rush of girls this year as I reach my hand in. Even as my fingers fold around a white slip, still they stay there, staring. I bite my orange lip. Surely they're being polite little lambs, waiting until I read off the name. That must be it.

"Coral Fisher." What a terribly common name.

Obviously shocked, a girl with silky brown hair emerges from the seventeen-year-old section. She looks around at all the females surrounding her, who only stare back with menacing smiles or sympathetic expressions. She climbs the steps to the stage, her eyebrows drawn together in worry and fear.

"Well, then," I say, taking in her put-together appearance. "Coral Fisher, everyone. Now for the boys."

This time there's a bit of a tussle to get up the stairs, even before I announce "Wyatt Andrews." There's a race between a guy with spiked brown hair and one with a lanky body form, but suddenly the spiked hair tumbles to the ground on top of the divider and the lanky boy hops up the steps to the stage eagerly.

"Percy Brizo, aged seventeen," he proclaims brazenly, his smile widening each moment he speaks. What an eager boy!

"District Four, you have your pair! Coral and Percy!" I wrap an arm around each of their shoulders- Percy's muscular, tan ones and Coral's quivering but strong ones. "We may see yet _another_ victor!"

**A/N: **

**Little Talks by "of Monsters and Men". **

**I liked District Four. Sure, Percy seems a bit like Percy Jackson. I know. But I figured if people think that, I could totally prove them wrong… I think. Percy's not a hero or anything, just a boy with no extraordinary talents. I know he'll surprise you in training. You have to wait and see why! :-)**

**Coral is wonderful as well. Oops, I'm turning into Phosphate the Three escort. xD I thought Coral's form was amazing from the second I started reading it, and swore then and there I'd use her. She really outdid my expectations. **

**I had a tough time picking this lyric out of all the good ones in "Little Talks". These are all my honorable mentions-**

**- "There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back."**

**- "Soon it will be over, and buried with our past."**

**- The screams all sound the same."**

**- "You're gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear. All that's left is the ghost of you."**

**- "Some days I feel like I'm wrong when I'm right."**

**QUESTION TIME! I'd appreciate if you guys actually did the questions, haha. :) Just sayin'.**

**Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**What were your thoughts on each POV?**

**Do you approve of the song choices so far? Why?**

**Have you/will you look up any of the songs? If so, which ones? :)**

**My mouse is back to being suckish, so that's why I didn't use italics for Percy's little flashback. Too strenuous, sorry. :[**


	6. 5 Let Them See You

_In every breath I breathe I sing a simple melody_

_But I pray they'll hear more than a song in me_

**Lux Sephina, 15**

"_How old are you? Tell me the truth!"_

_I stare at the man with wide eyes. "Seventeen," I choke out._

"_You're lying! You're not a day over fifteen!"_

"_I'm telling the truth!" I scream._

"_Take her family and that boy away! NOW!"_

"_NO! You can't take Aeol and Array! Take me, but not them!" I fly into a rage, clawing his exposed skin with my long nails, my sepia hair billowing around my shoulders. "You can't take them away! NEVER!"_

"_Lux!" Aeol's screeching, and all I can see are his large chocolate eyes that will haunt me. _

"_Your friend's not seventeen, is he? IS HE?"_

"_He is!" I shriek out, reaching for my friend. "Sir! You can't take them, please!"_

"_LUX!" screams Aeol at the top of his lungs. "LUX! LUX!"_

"_AEOL!"_

"Lux?"

My eyelids snap open, and I find my mouth wide open in a scream. My forehead, damp, hurts like hell. I press two fingers to my temple and exhale slowly to calm my thundering heart. I let my eyes stray up to see my friend, his light skin evident in the faint moonlight. "Aeol," I say, clutching his hand close.

"You were screaming. Woke Array up, too."

"Sorry," I sigh, casting my eyes down at the thin blue blanket that covers my petite body. "Where is he?"

"I heated up some milk and he's in the kitchen, drinking it."

I rub my eyes. "What time is it?"

"Nearly four."

"I definitely can't go back to sleep," I murmur, staring into Aeol's hardened brown eyes.

"Want me to stay in here with you?"

"Yeah."

Aeol snatches Array's small white and purple blanket and begins making himself cozy on the floor when I touch his wrist gently. "You can come up here, if you want."

It's weird. Aeol's not a brother to me, yet he seems so much like one. So much _more_ than one. There's nothing romantic going on, heavens no, but… something else. It's like we're in the most intimate relationship you can be in, without being girlfriend-boyfriend. We've known each other so long, in a bond closer than siblinghood.

So why was he just camping out on the ground?

I ask him this and he shrugs nonchalantly. "Didn't wanna freak you out," he replies.

"You wouldn't freak me out," I say, leaning back onto my pillow, feeling his bulky body next to mine. Array shows up at the door, eyes huge. He's holding a glass of steaming milk.

"Want anything to drink?" he asks Aeol and I.

"I'm good," I mutter.

"Same, little buddy," Aeol agrees.

For the next few hours my eyes won't close no matter what. Even pinching them shut with my fingers only ends in my eyelids springing back open, so I give up. Staring outside isn't so bad, actually. I mean, sure. I'm staring at a metal wall of the building next to us. But at least this street isn't littered with murders and crime or anything.

Array and Aeol play with a simple deck of playing cards- pinnacle or some game like that. Every time Array gets something good, Aeol high-fives him and cheers. That makes me secretly grin under the cover of my blanket.

Around six-thirty I shuffle down the hall to our dining room that doubles as a kitchen. Actually, it's not much. There's a thin card table with four mismatches chairs scattered around it, and old stained placemats placed upon it. The kitchen is nothing more than a mini fridge, a stove with half of the burners not working, a wine cooler that we use as an ice box, a few feet of counter space, a sink with running water, and a couple rickety old cupboards. At least there's food in them.

Except not today. When I swing them open, I find only dry pasta, some tea packets, crackers, and dried fruits. Not my type of breakfast. In the fridge I find a tin of day-old soup, a couple eggs, and half a carton of milk.

"I'm off to the store, so I have to get dressed," I tell the two boys. "Leave."

Hands held up in defense, Array trails after Aeol.

I slip on a pale, eggshell blue dress and a white cardigan. The buttons are missing, but it looks fine without them. The dress brings up memories for me, memories that must have been stashed away in the farthest corner of my mind. Memories of my parents, how my mother got this for me when we were wealthy. Before the accident.

They both died saving the lives of half of the population in a nuclear power plant leakage. Dad, they say, drowned in oil. Mom was lit on fire and burned to death. Not the prettiest deaths Five has seen, that's for sure.

Once they were dead, the money disappeared. I think it went to pay for unpaid taxes and mortgages for our mansion, but I'm still unsure. Only a small portion came to Array and I.

We lived in the children's home for a while, but obviously that cost a lot for us. The children were nasty, and since we had money we had to pay for everything. Food, our hot water, bedding, toys. I'm pretty sure it was illegal, but I never would have told, of course. I always keep mum on things such as that.

We met Aeol on a trip to a power plant, the very one my parents died in. He felt so much sympathy for us, and somehow we became friends. He told me that he never trusted anybody that much. Ever.

With our money combined, we paid for a small four-room house. The bathroom was three by three feet, with a tiny shower and sink. The toilet blocked the closing of the door completely, so I always go quickly. The one bedroom is slightly bigger, each with ample room for two cots and then a bit of floor space. It has a closet, too, which is useful. Half is full of my possessions, and the other half is of the boys' clothes and Array's few toys.

The other bedroom was made into a living room. We hauled in a sofa found on the curb, and although it has a foul smell it's not that overpowering. We also brought in a glass coffee table with a shattered corner and out of sheets I sewed curtains. And then there is the dining room/kitchen I mentioned previously.

Saying we were seventeen and taking care of our little brother, we moved in. Although I definitely don't look seventeen, Aeol could pass for a late teenager, which is probably what allowed us to move in.

Speaking of Aeol and Array, I have to go to the store.

**Alister Rain, 17**

I hear a yawn from the other side of the hall, look through the doorway to see her eyelids fluttering, and resort to simply _tugging_ the white button-up on. Anything to get out of the house before Talon wakes up.

It doesn't work, though. The blond girl awakens before I even have a chance to throw the shirt on.

"Alister!" Talon sounds surprised. "What time is it?"

"Um, eight," I lie. "Go back to sleep."

She swings her legs out of bed and walks down the hall to meet me. "Why are you getting dressed in the hall?"

"I didn't want to wake up Colton."

"I'm already awake!" a small voice pipes up from the staircase. I peer down in surprise to see the kid hopping up the steps, a Cheshire grin already on his face. "I woke up two hours ago, Alister! I don't sleep in." he spits out the word like he's swearing.

"Yeah," I reply, eyes darting at Talon nervously, "but… your bedsheets made it look like you were in there."

Colton wrinkles his eyebrows together. Lately, he's taken to sleeping on the floor for reasons I don't even know. I'm starting to think that the kid has OCD. "Kay," he chirps out, catching onto my white lie. "Thanks for the thought."

Talon shakes her head, resulting in a flurry of pale hair tickling my skin. "Whatever. I'm making us breakfast." I nod my assent and watch her leap down the steps.

Colton eases up the stairs and looks at me, a crooked smile on his face. "Why were you lying?"

"Who said I was lying?"

"Dude, you're like, the worst liar ever. Period."

Rolling my eyes, I lower my voice to a whisper. "I was going to leave for a, a walk."

"Oh, FUN!" Colton responds loudly, sarcastically. This kid is good at seeing through lies. Sheesh. "May I please ACCOMPANY you on your walk, ALISTER?"

I shake my head. "Er, sorry, C-Man. Not today."

"Then tell me what you're really doing or I'm telling Ja-ames," he wheedles, running a hand through his buttery blond Mohawk.

I try one last lie. "I need some new shoes, and if Talon knew I was shopping for footwear she'd go insane. You know that, Colt."

Colton tilts his head, his watery blue eyes piercing me. "I don't believe you. It obviously has to be forbidden or you wouldn't keep lying and changing your story."

This guy has got to be the most intelligent kid to walk District Five.

"Fine," I grumble. "I was going out to take a couple tesserae slips. I didn't want her to find out."

"Well, how many do you have so far?" Colton asks, immediately accepting this.

"Um… I'm seventeen, so that would be… forty-eight, I think?"

"DUDE!" screeches Colton, his face growing red. "How have you not been Reaped yet?!"

I make a sour face.

"Just put two or three on mine!" he cries. "I only have ONE, Alister, honestly!"

"I can't do that, Colt," I mumble. "Talon would kill me."

"Talon's going to kill you once she finds OUT that you're nearly at fifty slips!" Colton shrieks. "I don't want you to get picked, either!"

"Shut up, Colton," I say crudely, the first time I ever said something harsh to him. His mouth created an open O and I took this opportunity to fly downstairs.

The tesserae place in the Justice Building wasn't that hard to find, since I've already been here four times this year, each with two slips. Times have been tough. Last week I signed up, but they didn't have enough supplies for the increasing demand, so I was told to come early today.

I find my name on the counter- Rain, Alister- and snatch up the cardboard boxes, each containing the food that will keep us alive for a bit longer.

On the way out, there's Talon.

She takes me in, then quickly storms over. "ALISTER," she seethes, "were you just taking TESSERAE?!"

"Talon, I can explain!"

"Fine, then. EXPLAIN."

I let my eyes wander around as I fish for an answer. "Um, money's been tight. Right? So, um, I've been taking tesserae slips. It's been feeding us."

"That's where all of them came from? How many do you have?"

"_Yeah_," I say a bit too enthusiastically. "and you've been making all these great meals with them and they've been delicious! It's so perfect, right?"

"Alister," Talon begins in a low voice, "how many slips of tesserae do you have?"

I swallow.

"Counting these?"

"Yes."

"….Fifty."

What happens next was actually rather violent, so I'm not explaining in detail. Basically, Talon scratched me a lot. I bled a lot. And she fled. It…. It wasn't the prettiest sight, especially in the Justice Building.

I walked home to find her not there, so I handed the boxes to Colton. He accepted them eagerly and opened a box to find the grains. He started pouring himself a bowl of tesserae cereal, with one for Lisa his little sister as well.

I brought a slice of tesserae bread slathered with butter to James, who was sitting in his wheelchair glumly. He was paralyzed from the waist down in the same thing that killed my very parents, and lots of other factory workers who were at the plant as well. "Did you take tesserae again?" he muttered, his twenty-year-old face haggard.

"Um. Yes. Talon… she got mad."

"How mad?"

"She gave me these cuts." James looks up from his book with a start to see me. He immediately dips his head down low to meet his hands.

"She's my little sister, Alister."

"Yes."

"You came to live with us, after your parents died, just because she begged me to let you stay with us."

"Right." I'm growing uneasy with every word he says.

"Why would you cause her this pain? She obviously loves you, Alister-"

"_What_?"

"That's right, and she's waiting for you to feel the same way. Obviously. It's scaring her half to death that you're entering yourself more and more in this, this, this DEATH match. And anyways, if you loved her back you wouldn't be this cruel to her feelings."

"I tried to hide it, James! I tried to leave before she woke up! She nearly murdered me because I tried to hide it all these years."

James looks away. "Thanks for the bread. See you later, Alister. After the Reaping at _least_."

Gritting my teeth, I comply.

I know where Talon goes when she's upset. There's a small patch in the woods two streets over, where two rivers meet and it's all perfect. There are a couple fallen logs that serve as benches, and there's a fruit tree or two. But right now, I'm only toying with the idea of leaving to see her. Just because she's so mad. I don't want to cause her any more pain.

But, reflecting on what James said, I eventually choose to go. She is my best friend. The least I can do is _try_ and make her feel better.

I stumble over many curbs as I walk to the woods, mainly because I'm too distracted to look where I am walking. I'm terrified. Talon can be intimidating when she wants to be, even though I used to think not. But that was then, when she was an innocent little sugary sweet girl with platinum blond hair tied back in a sweet little pigtail set and wore printed jumpers. Now she's a not-so-innocent teenager with platinum hair usually chopped short, and it's curly. And the jumpers are history. All her wardrobe ever is these days are tank tops and skinny pants.

_Quite_ the difference.

The woods ahead appears ominous, and I feel tiny compared to its majesty. Swallowing hard, I step foot just inside its foliage-covered carpet, bringing up crunchy applause.

Through the sunlight that peeks through the trees, I see Talon.

Before she has any time to see what's coming I attack her, throwing my arms around her and lavishing her with tickles. Snorting with laughter but yet trying to remain dignified, Talon lashes out with her nails, bringing fresh pain to my injuries.

"Talon," I gasp out, examining the marks. "Stop."

"You attacked me first," she spits out. "Did Colton send you? James? Lisa?"

"No. I came on my own."

She glares at me, but within moments she's downright sobbing. "I…. so…. I'm…. Alister!"

My eyebrows thick and heavy, I stare at her until she explains herself.

**Scotch Cronhumus, 36**

"District Five, huh? You got the bad district, huh? I'll bet you wanted Two, or even Four. But noooooo, you got stuck with our suckish little district of Five."

"Stop it," I grumble, eyes flickering to the taunting girl next to me. She has flaming red hair not unlike my own. Like many females in Five, she's really pale. But she shouldn't be. She's a victor. "Don't you have better things to do, Kassidy? Than to taunt the escort that brought you victory?"

"Ha!" the girl flips her silky copper hair in open defiance. "No way. You did nothing except stare at yourself in that stupid little pocket mirror, making tiny kissy faces at yourself, while I slaved away at those spiked maces just because my _mentor_ told me so. And then you told me to tie a noose. For myself. You helped me _nothing_."

Flaring my nostrils, I look away. "I've been stuck with these people for six years now. The least they can do is promote me to Four."

"SEE!" Kassidy is triumphant. "I knew you wanted Four. The people there are _sooooo_ much better behaved, huh?"

"Even Eleven would be better than being stuck with you for the sixth year straight, Kassidy," I retort. "Now if you'll excuse me, you and Tuesday have to find your seats."

"Tuesday's a hag," she says off-handedly. "I liked my mentor better. What did Tuesday's mentored kids do? They all die in the frigging bloodbath. At least last year, I got Zelda past it. Tough fighter, that one. But, like most District Five girls, it all ended when she got her intestines ripped out brutally by the One male."

"That didn't _really_ happen," I bleat quickly, glancing back at her. "Did it?"

"You should know!" Kassidy's in hysterics, and quiet Tuesday, who just joined us, looks on solemnly. "You _escorted_ her!"

"Scotch, Zelda was the eighteenth to die. Last year was the arena of the many beaches. Zelda was killed by a venomous snake," Tuesday pipes up.

"Thank you, kind mentor," I bat my very manly purple eyelashes at her. Glancing over at the glowering Kassidy, I snap, "See? Somebody here is nice."

Ten minutes later it's time to Reap some kids.

My hand descends gracefully in the bowl, fishing around for the perfect slip that will be our female tribute. Like clockwork, my hand closes around one and I pull up, peering at it.

"Lux Sephina!"

A girl visibly gasps and her face goes white. I motion for her to come up to the stage hurriedly. "Chop chop, Lux, we've not all day."

She's average height with regular looks, just like all the rest of the kids here. She has mousy brown hair and a timid expression, which vaguely amuses me. As Lux shakily makes her way up, I rapidly announce,

"Now for the _men_."

My hand swishes around a little bit before landing on a white paper, and this name is a bit of a mouthful. "….Alister Rain!"

A seventeen-year-old boy lets out a huge breath of air that can be heard even on the stage. Offering me a stage-weak smile, I walk him tremble as he wanders up to the stage.

Disapprovingly, I look at them both. They're just your standard tributes, nothing special. Darn.

It looks like District Five won't have a victor this year.

**A/N: **

**Let Them See You by Colton Dixon.**

**Well, well, WELL! Your first Colton song! How about that? I didn't even know that it corresponded with the Colton in Lux's life until afterwards. How funny, huh? :-) Are any of you Colton Dixon fans out there? **

**Alrighty then. I suppose we'll mosey on over to the questions, since I have **_**nothing**_** to say.**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**1. Which of these two tributes stands out more to you? Why?**

**2. Which song lyric has been your favorite so far? Why?**

**3. Which escort has been your favorite thus far? Why?**

**4. Which of the upcoming tributes are you most looking forward to and why?**

**5. If you're not a Colton fan… will you look his songs up? :D**

**6. How was my writing?**


	7. 6 The Monster

_**You think I'm crazy? That's nothing!**_

** Jinx Tesatsu, 17**

That's it, I've had it. I just can't go on in this low district, I can't.

I have to escape.

Nibbling on a half piece of burnt bacon, I peer out into the rainy, seemingly empty and abandoned skate park. I can't take any chances; this is the only safe way home. Peacekeepers have been on my trail for ages, asking around if anybody has seen the "District Six sadist". Of course, when I was questioned, they held me for a bit longer than others. Something in their eyes made me skittish, and I suppose I freaked a bit.

Nothing could make me go back to answer their "questions" after that. I knew that soon I'd be tossed carelessly into the prison like a rag doll. The Peacekeepers here have no respect whatsoever for District Six citizens.

Like me. Like Calico.

Speaking of Calico… where is she?

I shove the rest of the greasy, overcooked meat in my mouth and stroll out, savoring the misty haze that swishes just off my skin. Rain, in my opinion, is one of the best things created. I love the appearance, taste… _smell_….

Especially the smell.

It can cover up any other scent.

Like blood.

Blood.

Images of last night sift through my mind, and I shudder.

"_I'll see you tomorrow, Jinx!" Calico called, her soft blond hair swishing behind her as she strutted out of the park._

_I waited till dark, when the moon glared just a little onto the soft, grassy grounds. Soon clouds formed, and it was nearly jet black. It didn't bother me, though. I could see in near pitch darkness without complications._

_The old bell tower hummed in the distance, and frogs creaked as a soft precipitation began to drizzle down. It moistened the play area, my hair. Everything not covered it attacked in rabid little droplets. Hungry for their next victim that would be their meal, dripping down eagerly to gain more._

_Rain._

_A cheery whistle pierced through the quiet rushing of rain, and I squinted to make out the image of the park ranger, closing up for the night. Her expression blank, the keys on her belt jingled jovially as she searched for the certain one to close up the gate._

_Then she noticed me._

"_Hey, kid! What are you doing out? It's twelve at night! Get out an' go home already!"_

_A fierce anger surged through my veins. This woman thought she could just boss me around like I was nothing but a mere child._

_Let's see how childish she thought I was after I was through with her._

_Slipping a hand inside my jacket pocket, my slender fingers folded around the handle of a knife. Running, charging, I knocked the startled woman to the ground. She began hollering, terrified._

"_KID! What the hell are you doing? Get off of me! HELP!"_

_Baring my white teeth, I smirked. "It's twelve at night," I hissed. "Nobody can hear you scream."_

_Not caring to waste any time, I quickly made a couple incisions with expertise- a few on her face, two or three on her neck. Just teasing her, letting her know that the greater pain was yet to come._

_Her shrieks were fading with each time I tugged the knife across her skin. Her attempts to push me off were weakened. Blood trickled slowly from each cut, and she was now breathing in shallow, ragged breaths. "Kid," she muttered, "why are you doing this?"_

_I couldn't tell her. It wasn't something I could explain well. It's just the inane thirst to hear another human being begging for mercy, the ripe sound that flesh makes when it's opened oh-so-delicately. The sheer terror in my victims' eyes, the screams that die slowly on their lips. For me, this is just a lifestyle._

_I wasn't always like this._

_I got into this nasty business at age ten, in a fistfight that soon turned to knives. The girl, inexperienced and frightened, was easy to overcome. Since then, my urges have been harder to quell. I've settled to simply torture, nothing like death. I'm not a murderer or anything, just a… a sadist. And I can't help it. It's like some people can't help being incredibly talented at dancing or being known for their kindness. But my personality is much more sour, not desirable or likable at all. _

_Giving the woman one last slit on her nose, I got off from my death hold on her. The woman moaned and turned over. Good, she wasn't dead._

_Not for now, anyways._

I dart across the park, eyes flickering everywhere. The skating and playground materials are dripping with dew and rain, but the empty half-pipe is stained with blood.

It was on the news this morning that a park ranger was found brutally sliced up. One piece of evidence was the fringe of black jeans, with just a bit of blood stained on it. The Peacekeepers were on the hunt, and anybody found with any evidence of the crime would be forced to notify them. Questionings would begin after the Reaping.

That's when I knew that my fate was sealed, that I'd definitely be found out. I'm pretty sure I'm the only person around this area that wears black jeans. How could I have been so… _careless_?

I see a familiar mop of blond hair and instantly trot over to her.

"Isn't this so _scary_, Jinx?" Calico mewls. "And to think we were the last ones here before she got all cut up. It's like, déjà vu!"

"Not really," I mumble. "How's it déjà vu?"

"There have been so many torturings around our neighborhood, all right after we went to that same place. Like, when we went to Carly's party a couple months ago, the next morning she was found in her bed, all sliced up. I wonder why somebody would do this…"

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I force it into a sympathetic look, for Calico's sake.

"Right. Poor Carly. I heard that she's still recovering."

Calico and I met on one of my torture trips. We were fourteen. It was late at night, and she was dashing back to school to grab her history textbook to study for exams. I knew who she was- Calico Fledge, the slightly dumb classmate who had incredibly huge midnight blue eyes.

_The night air was crisp like a Macintosh apple. If only there was a person coming back, one with skin as tight as an apple to be pierced by the knife…_

_I hear the faint sound of footsteps coming from the direction of the streetlight, and I duck behind a hedge to try and make out who it is._

_Calico Fledge, a girl with fluffy blond hair and gigantic blue eyes was looking around neurotically, her head swiveling from left to right, was trotting down with her hunter green backpack slung on her shoulder. I heard her gulp as she rattled on the doors of the school, making a noise of impatience when they didn't open._

_It was go time._

_I slunk out from the shadows, my bare feet barely even making any pattering noises on the asphalt. My breathing was light; my face was shielded with my jet black hair hanging loose in tendrils around it. Nobody would be able to recognize me, later._

"_Who-who is there?" Calico trilled in a shrill voice as she whipped around. "Who is it? Oh my God!"_

_I tackled her, pressing her bony shoulders to the pavement. She let out a whimper of fear, eyes huger than ever. _

_Something stopped me. I don't know what. Maybe it was mercy, maybe it was pity. To this day I'm not sure why I did not let the blade trace idly around her milky white skin. I shoved the knife back in my pocket and stood up carefully, even grabbing her hand to help her up as well._

"_Sorry," I muttered, scratching the back of my head. Trying to make light of this situation, I commented brightly, "You can't be too careful with that sadist running around, right?"_

"_Right," Calico responded, a bit too enthusiastically. "I was terrified… what's your name?"_

"_Jinx?"_

"_Jinx! Right. I was so scared I was gonna die, honestly."_

_A cold smile inched its way across my chin. "Never. Why would he or she attack an unarmed fourteen-year-old girl?"_

If only Calico knew.

**Francis Theurox, 14**

I gaze around the amazing infrastructure of the room, taking in the marble arches and the velvety red curtains that hang yards and yards long, descending gracefully from curtain rods near the ceiling. My eyelashes flutter as the mansion owner's Angora cat tries to capture my shoelace in its tiny, furry paws. Mammals were never my favorite things to paint. If I didn't paint abstract art, I'd spend all my talent on painting houses, shapes, and turtles, which rather fascinate me. Funny things, turtles. Did you know that when provoked, a turtle–

"_Francis_." 

I look up to see my mother, her lips pursed in disdain. "I've been talking to you for the past five minutes. I'm guessing you didn't hear a word?"

"Not even a syllable," I confess.

She crosses her arms, gesturing to the broad-set woman in front of me. "Mrs. Malone wants you to paint her a garden scene, eight by six feet. The theme should be red. There, that's about it in a nutshell, isn't it?"

"Nearly," Mrs. Malone declares, swishing her thick black hair behind a shoulder and scowling at me. "I'd like a couple rabbits hopping around the scene as well. Rabbits and cats. If you need to, I have a series of cat sculptures around the house for you to take home as inspiration. Not many cats wander the streets of Six, especially not with that dreadful sadist running around."

"I know what a cat looks like, Mrs. Malone," I reply.

Her glare darkens. "Not just any old flea-bitten, scruffy old cat. An Angora, much like Mitzy here." The fluffy white feline starts purring like an old machine revving up, strutting over to her master. "I expect there to be a bounty of Angoras in the picture."

"A red-tinted garden scene with rabbits and Angora cats stalking around?" I repeat.

"Yes, you heard correctly." Mrs. Malone glances at my mother sideways. "Your boy's not the sharpest tack in the box, Mrs. Theurox, but he isn't completely dumb."

My eyes wander back to the lavish room, taking in the sweet scent that drifts around the room of rose petals. Gilded furniture lies in some sort of arrangement- feng shui, if my memory serves me correctly, like the time I visited Mr. Thomas, the mayor of Six. Very superstitious, that man. When we sat down for tea he searched his drawers for one certain spoon, with which he stirred his earl grey precisely twice to the right, thrice to the left.

"Francis! What do you say?"

My eyelids fly up, and quickly I rack my brain to try and remember what we were talking about. I fidget under Mrs. Malone's harsh gaze. "We were discussing the painting, right?" I mutter.

"Yeeeees," my mother draws out the word slowly.

Suddenly, the notion slams into me like a wrecking ball. "Are you wondering how to paint?" I chatter rapidly, already bouncing up and down just thinking about the familiar smell of paint that I've grown to so love. "I can teach you! If you need a basic art kit, I'll lend you one of my old ones. It's not the best, but there's basic primary and secondary colors in acrylic and a tinting guide, plus seven different brushes differing in bristles and width and all that good stuff!" A grin widens on my face as I dreamily go on, "If you like, I'll even lend you a tapestry- a splendid canvas that you can work on. Fabric may be a bit tricky to express yourself on, but once you have proper training it's easier than chewing and swallowing!"

I look up to see the disgusted face of Mrs. Malone and my mother, her hand smashed into her head, which is aimed at the floor, and who is shaking her head slowly. "Francis," she murmurs quietly, "I was telling you to say 'thank you'."

Embarrassed, I mutter out a half-hearted "thanks" and spin on my heel to go home.

Once we're out the door, Mother explodes in a wave of wrath. "I've told you to start listening more, Francis! What am I supposed to _do_ with you?"

Bewildered, I shrug a little and scurry along in front of her. "Sorry, Mom," I apologize quickly, "I just got a little caught up in talking about the finer qualities of art."

Mom glowers. "Three people in a weekend, Francis, all high-paying customers who will dish out enough cash to set you through eight years of college for one painting. All you have to do is pay attention and PAINT. It's not that hard, honestly!"

I hang my head solemnly, still skittering along nervously. "Um, OK."

**Skeleton Maurice, 28**

"So what do you do it for, is it like, shock factor or something?"

"Would you shut up?" I muster up as much sweetness as I can, feeling insane. This isn't a past victor to me, it's like a Reaped tribute that's such an optimist, trying to make the best of everything. It's true, after his Games that Dalton lost all sense of sanity and resorted to thinking like an eleven-year-old boy permanently. But he's the only other victor Six has had besides Gingham Cleaver, a skittish morphling addict with sagging magenta skin and emphasized hair colors.

"Dalton," Gingham moans from the sidelines, obviously not dealing well with the morphling withdrawal. "Just… just pay Skeleton some attention, alright?"

"You're one to talk!" Dalton retorts, throwing his flowing brunette hair back with a defiant toss of his head. "You don't have to, why should I? I'm not that much younger than you!"

I scratch an itch on my pale skin with a long black nail. "Dalton, this is my first year at District Six and I really don't want to spend it arguing consistently."

"Then TELL me!" Dalton bounces on his heels, taking in my raggedy coal-colored dress. "I just wanna know why you're dressed all scary and why your name sounds like a creepy monster!"

"Shock value, sure," I tell him, plucking a loose strand of black hair off my dress. "So… um… the districts see I'm a threat?"

"What's thaaaaat mean?" Dalton asks, his brown eyes huge with questions.

Gritting my teeth as to not lose my temper, I swipe a hand over my forehead where a thin layer of perspiration has started to form. "You're testing my patience, Dalton."

He gives a huff and crosses his arms, but immediately cheers up when he and Gingham are told they can introduce me to the crowd.

Dalton's Hunger Games, two years ago, were filled with blood and gore. The arena was a very sandy desert, one with rattlesnake muttations that bit and targeted vital organs. His three allies, the two from Seven and the girl from Eleven, were each killed in one of the biggest bloodbaths in history, where exactly seventeen tributes were murdered. The Career pack, as it was soon dubbed, gained three extra tributes- the girl from Eight, boy from Nine, and the boy from Eleven- because of their quickly-gained skills with different weapons such as katanas and picks. Wielding weapons was nearly impossible for the other tributes. Dalton was decent with machetes, and so at the bloodbath he dove headfirst into a pile of backpacks, staying there while the Careers picked off the other tributes. Later in the Games, sandstorms arrived and soon, the boys from Two and Eleven were the only ones left. Weary and exhausted, they submitted to Dalton rapidly, but not before they tried to hack away at each other in a quarrel.

It wasn't two weeks later when Dalton lost his mind.

"Skeleton?" a woman with pale hair and gaunt eyes peers at me. "You're on."

The Treaty of Treason lasts forever, as usual, but I'm pleased when it's cut off because of technical difficulties. Something about the train's radio waves interacting with the transportation satellite and bouncing off to the… who am I kidding? I don't even know.

"Boys first!" I announce into the microphone, easing over to the respective bowl. It's like a game of cat and mouse, my hand being the cat and the slips that scurry away being all the mice. But eventually, one mouse will be caught. And this mouse is…

"Francis Theurox."

A fourteen-year-old blinks huge, cow-like eyes before stumbling up dazedly. He's not the best dressed- a simple red and blue paint-speckled shirt paired with jeans… Jeans that are spattered with paint as well. Obviously, this boy wasn't prepared to be Reaped.

The girls are next, and the mouse for this year will be…

"Agatha Marbles."

Just as a thirteen-year-old with braids and glasses bursts into tears, a seventeen-year-old girl with jet black hair that rivals mine goes on a screaming fit. "I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER!" With her hair flying askew, she dashes up to the stage at lightning speed. Breathing heavily, she pants into the microphone, "I'm Jinx, Jinx Tesatsu."

A grin can't help but start to form on my face. A volunteer! Maybe my first year of District Six won't be so bad. It's certainly beginning to be interesting, to say the very least.

"District Six, your tributes Francis and Jinx!"

**A/N:**

**The Monster by Eminem and Rihanna. **

**I loved this set of tributes. One was submitted by last year's victor's submitter, in fact… Can you guess which one? B) In my opinion, these two tributes are definite stand-outs, and I think you know why.**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**- Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**- I've finished half the Reapings so far. Which three tributes are your favorite so far, and why?**

**- Out of the twelve, which three are your LEAST favorites and why?**

**- Which song lyric did you like the least and why?**


	8. 7 Reaping

_**When she speaks the name out loud,**_

_**Breathless I pray it's some mistake.**_

**Leaf Ender, 13  
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As the brush swoops over my eyelids, my eyelashes flutter in anticipation of the hard poke of a makeup brush. I hear the familiar giggle of Lucinda, Rosie, and Elm, all of whom are currently making me up. Lucinda's doing my makeup, Rosie my hair, and Elm's choosing an outfit for me to wear.

It's lucky, really, that they don't know I'll immediately be undoing it once they leave.

"Are you girls done yet?" I ask.

Lucinda shrilly giggles. "Almost, Leaf!" she shrieks in delight. "I just have to make your lips all purty and then I'm done!"

"I need a hair tie," Rosie screams out.

"I'LL get you one!" Eager to please, Elm dashes to the hall bathroom to grab up a ribbon.

I sneak a glance at the outfit Elm has put together, raiding the dress-up closet— a hot pink sweater, hunter green leggings, and fringed, suede maroon boots. Just wonderful.

Lucinda smears some lipstick on me and Rosie ties my hair off. I quickly dress in Elm's little outfit before I'm allowed to sneak a peek in the mirror.

My eyes are dramatically done up in shimmery, cheap lavender lipstick. The blush isn't that bad, just perhaps a bit too red, and the lipstick is a pale coral color, wiped all the way around my mouth, not once touching my lips. And my thick black hair is in an elaborately done braided-bun hairstyle, tied off with one big white ribbon.

"I… look beautiful," I say numbly, forcing a smile for the little girls' sake.

"You really, really like it?" Lucinda says eagerly, hands clasped in front of her in delight. "I knew you liked that purty purple color, so that's why I done your eye-cups in it!"

"Eyelids," I correct her. "Eyecups are little coffee mugs used to hold eyeballs!"

"EWW!" the three girls shriek out, laughing. "Nasty!"

"Can you do meeeeeeee next?" begs Elm, unknowingly starting a riot.

"No, me!" Rosie pitches.

"Me, please, Leafy!" Lucinda trills.

"I'll do each of you later." I glance sideways at the enormous brown clock that hangs in our dormitory. "Five minutes till breakfast. Go and wash up, girls!"

It takes over five minutes to scrape the caked-on makeup off, tug my hair free of the braided bun, and grab my white nightgown to wear to breakfast. Once I'm done, my cheeks have a healthy glow thanks to the scrubbing I just did.

Breakfast today is a treat- a breakfast buffet, which is really rare in the orphanage! Nearby, monitors watch with hawk eyes to make sure you don't fill your plate too full. I take a small slab of cold salted ham, a sliver of cheese, a few apple slices, and a crumbly piece of toast- dry, just as I like it.

My feet slap against the asphalt as I walk to the outdoor garden, which nobody goes in anymore since it's so overgrown and twisted outside the walls. But on the inside, the flowers give off a really fragrant smell, the pathways aren't littered with weeds as majority thinks, and the old pillars, benches, and decorations are still intact. The creek may not be as wide as it once was, but it still bubbles and trips along merrily, with just enough water to wade in.

I set my plate down on a wicker table and start nibbling on an apple slice, scanning the garden for Blight. I see a familiar movement of tawny hair and whistle quickly.

The dog struts over, his eyes sagging more than usual. Scratching behind his ears playfully, I break off half the ham and feed it to him. I do the same with the cheese, and after a while of sniffing he chows down on an apple slice.

I absent-mindedly scratch behind his ears, my eyes straying to the wildflowers that are scattered aimlessly around. Beautiful, I think. The only thing of beauty that I know. There are white-faced daisies, multicolored tulips, fragrant hydrangeas, huge peonies with their many small leaves, and green ivy that crawls up the wall that separates the garden from the orphanage.

Ivy…

"I'll see you after the Reaping, Blight," I tell the dog hurriedly, dumping the rest of my food on the ground for him to chow down upon. "I'm gonna visit my sister!"

A visit to see Ivy is rare, especially since the orphans are almost never allowed to leave grounds. Special days, such as the Reaping, are different. We can go wherever we want in the mornings. Some visit the river, most visit the museum that gives an hour-long tour for only six coins. Me? I visit Ivy, my older sister.

Ivy was actually _wanted_ by my parents, you see. They just wanted one child, a girl. And when they got her, they were halfway over the moon. And then one night when Ivy was just seven, I happened. Leaf, they named me. Father wanted to call me "Weed" because I was so unexpected, but Ivy begged for Leaf. They knew they'd give me up, so they must have thought that I might as well have an attractive name. So Leaf I am.

Ivy is nineteen now, and lives in a hut near the linden orchards. Lindens were always her favorite tree, she told me. Their sweet-smelling buttery yellow blossoms made her heart swell in delight, and the soft timber could be easily carved. The only keepsake I have of my sister is a small doll's supper plate, which was carved out of the same linden wood that she loves.

I trip along merrily, my black braids bouncing on the smalls of my back, eyes trained on her hut in the distance. She's at home, it tells me. The chimney is smoking. Maybe she's cooking breakfast for herself, or making a warm fire to keep warm in these cold mornings. Either one, she's built a fire and I will soon be sitting upon the hearth with a broad grin on my face.

I knock lightly on the door so it doesn't cave in, and when Ivy answers I greet her with a tight embrace. She's surprised, though. I don't know why.

"Morning, Ives!" I say jovially. "The orphanage let me out today!"

Ivy's eyes flicker over to her fireplace, and I notice that there's a small bowl warming up by it. "What's in the hearth?"

"I… I didn't know you were coming. I just made myself some oatmeal."

"Oh…" for some reason that was unknown to me, this is awkward. I nod lightly, offering up a cutesy smile. "I had breakfast, ham and apples and all _sorts_ of things!"

"Good!" Ivy visibly relaxes. "I was wondering, you know, if you were going to try and eat your meal here… but now that I know you've already eaten… good!"

"So let's just talk," I say, smiling.

And we do.

**Ben McMhon, 12**

My friend starts to walk over, his eyebrows raised and face full of disbelief. "Ben," he says. "You haven't done a single lick of work, man! You're gonna be scolded!"

I stretch my arms out lazily. "Aw, shush, Kirk," I reply. "I'm gonna get all my branches shredded, just wait and see."

"How?" Kirk wants to know, his face contorted in confusion.

My eyes dart back and forth, taking in potential eavesdroppers, before I whisper to him, "I always find a way, don't I?"

Kirk scowls. "I thought you were gonna tell me, when you looked around like that."

"Nope." I cross my arms. "Just wait and see, Kirk, by the end of the day I'll have more than everybody else."

"I still wanna know."

"En-oh spells NO. Sorry."

Now, I thought to myself as Kirk scampered back to his individual wood shredder, I have to find a way to get these branches shredded in half an hour. Glancing over at the huge pile of tree limbs, though, I could tell that that would be impossible. Plus, shredding timber is not my idea of a good time.

Sniffing up the fresh, pine-scented air, I begin to take a short walk around the lumber yard. I knew that there had to be a way to complete it, I just needed to figure it out. I spotted my twin brother, Leo, who currently was red-faced, shrinking back. He was being scolded by his overseer. Curious, I eased over to him to listen in.

"You LAZY, LAZY boy. Taking a break when you haven't done a THIRD of your work, uh? You'd be better off if you were REAPED, for heaven's sake!" shouts the woman, throwing her hands in the air. "At least then you'd be working, working for your LIFE!"

Leo swallows, his face growing more and more like a tomato. "Sorry," he mouths to her, unable to defend himself.

"Sorry? Sorry doesn't even BEGIN to cover it!"

No mooching off Leo today, passing him off for a certain Ben and me off for a certain Leo. It always was a fine tactic, one that I used often. But today, however, seems to be-

"Ben."

I whirl around to come face-to-face with Jessie, my older sister. Her long brunette hair is in a messy braid, and she is raging mad.

"You've not completed a single branch!" she hollers. "That means no pay, and I'll have to wind up taking tesserae so we don't STARVE to death! God, Ben, could you just WORK for once?"

Her words sting like a bee bite, and I shrug timidly. "Sorry," I squeak out, ashamed. Jessie does have that effect on people. "I guess I got too tied up in… in…"

"In WHAT?" she demands.

"In helping LEO. I felt so bad that he worked slowly, I decided to work together with him."

Jessie, gullible Jessie, instantly melts and her face breaks out in a loopy grin. "You helped your brother?" she says quietly. "That's so unlike you, Ben. And sort of sweet."

I wipe away a salty tear that I just forced from my eye. "Sorry to have let you down," I remark blackly, eyes averted to the ground. "I guess I'm just not good enough. I'll get back to my own branches."

Almost as if on cue, Jessie grabs my shoulder. "You know what?" she tells me, still smiling. "I can do half or four branches. Consider it sisterly love."

"You mean it?" I shriek out, bouncing on the balls of my feet. Before she can change her mind, I plant a sloppy kiss on her chin and run off to haul a couple limbs over to her. "Gee, thanks, sister!"

"Anything!" Jessie grins. "You deserve it, Ben, helping Leo out and all that. You should be rewarded!"

With my head held high in the air and nose pointed in the pine-scented air, I strut off to complete the two or three branches I have left.

**Magenta Biel, 36, District Seven escort**

"You've outshone even your best work this time, Xia," I sigh happily, watching my limber form as I twirl in front of the gargantuan mirror. Bits of light dance off the knee-length teal dress as tiny feathers create an hourglass illusion around my hips and torso. The stones in my necklace reflect any light, as well.

"Are you positive, Mag?" Xia beams, a self-satisfied smile warming up to her delicate features. "I wasn't sure we should break away from the color magenta."

I shake my head, eyes still trained on myself. "I was getting bored of that pinkish color anyways. I think it's good for a change. New district, I suppose."

"Yes…"

Rage suddenly seizes my senses, and I grit my teeth as to avoid an outburst. "They downgraded me," I murmur. "I was from Three, expecting One."

"I'm sure that they thought this was an improvement," Xia assures me hurriedly. "I mean, Mag, Three is filled with gasoline and lightbulbs and heat, while here is jam-packed with pine needles and wonderful scents!"

"The thing is," I seethe, "is I've been in Seven before. Everybody knows that. Remember that one kid, Jack or something? In the sixty-eighth Games? His Reapings was one of the guiltiest I've ever done, Xia, and I don't think anybody could forget how it was on the news that I broke down when his district partner committed suicide!"

"You grew too attached," whispers Xia.

"Yes. I did. Silly of me, to care so much for a simple thirteen-year-old. But that's the past, naturally." I raise my head up high and allow the stylist to adjust my circlet. "And as of now, this is the future. I'm positive that there will be no more thirteen-year-old girls from District Seven for me to obsess over."

Well, minutes later as a small female called Leaf Ender scampers forward, I openly moan. My prediction was wrong, natch.

I watch her black hair, tied up in a high ponytail, as it bobs up to the stage, hovering over an extremely pale and scared face.

"Ben McMhon?" Dearly I hope it's not another fourteen-year-old with a quirky smile and glistering eyes. "Is there a Ben McMhon here?"

A boy emerges from a younger sector- not the fourteen-year-olds, thank God. His face is relatively bored, but I can tell that underneath his thin, cotton shirt his heart is pounding out of his chest.

"Erm, shake hands, you two," I whisper as Ben arrives at the stage. He looks at Leaf evilly, eyeing up her tear-streaked cheeks.

"What if I don't wanna shake hands with her?" he sneers. "She's an orphan girl. She probably has fleas."

"Right back at you!" Leaf spits, her eyes brimming over with more brackish tears.

"Kids," I hiss, "You're making me look bad. Shake your effing hands already before I nail them together!"

There it goes, my temper again. I can't help it, though. It's like a demon that slowly erupts from my inner core, threatening to spew over whenever times get uppity. And needless to say, I believe that might be why I was relocated back to District Seven.

Ben finally allows his pinkie finger to be shook by a quivering Leaf, and with a broad smile I turn to the crowd and announce happily, "District Seven, I present to you Leaf Ender and Ben McMhon!"

**A/N: The Reaping by the Tributes.**

**And yes. That is an actual band. Their album is entitled "Panem's Best" and it has songs like "Mockingjay" and "Arena" and stuff like that. The Reaping just seemed best for a district with two of the youngest tributes, with thoughts soaring through their heads and all that.**

**Leaf and Ben. My, my. One was extremely easy to write for, while the other… I think you can tell in my writing that I didn't really connect. I hope you can't, though, tell one from another. Eek. That explains the time gap, all the rest will (hopefully) be updated like usual.**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**Which tribute did you connect with most and why?**

**Of all the tributes you've met so far, which three, in your opinion, have the greatest chance of victory and why?**

**Which escort was your LEAST favorite and why?**

**Lastly, which three tributes have the LEAST chance of victory and why?**


	9. 8 Carry On

_**We are shining stars,**_

_**We are invincible **_

**Willa Seamstress, 16**

It's not different today, but rather routine. Every Reaping day in District Eight, rainclouds hover over the entire place and it thunders the entire day. It's always been like that since God knows when. Every. Stinking. Reaping.

It's nice to know that some things don't change.

I open my fist, letting in some soft patters of rain, letting it overflow and allowing liquid to seep through the cracks between my fingers. I capture a handful, then slowly begin to sip it, relishing in the cold, fresh taste.

"Willa!"

I shake my hand free of water and wipe it on my tight jeans, my eyes wide and searching. "Yeah? Hello?"

A familiar face pops into my peripheral vision, grinning broadly. "You're late!"

"'M not late," I murmur, glancing at the rickety old clock that beams down on the bustling marketplace. "It's ten exactly."

"You're just asking for it, huh?" Lillian asks sarcastically, not waiting for an answer. "I guess I'll just ask old brother Cujo to come over to your house after the Reaping and maybe —"

"Providing we both live through the Reaping," I say vaguely, slowly fingering my dark brown hair carefully, combing through it with my slender fingers. "And yeah, I'm sort of joking about that."

Lillian's eyes wide, she warns, "Don't even joke, Willa. It's like, déjà vu. Think about it like that. If you say anything about yourself getting Reaped, it's like you were born to die!"

"I'm the one joking about death?" I retort.

"Insane, more like it. Joking 'bout in insanity."

"Right…." I roll my eyes. "Say I was. Anyways. Where's Jana and Sequin?"

"Why?"

"I'm looking for them, obviously."

"Oh." Lillian shrugs, her uncaring disposition really seeping through. "I told them that they didn't have to come to the market today. There's not much of a need to have them around on a special day, after all. It's not like they're our best friends."

When she sees my inner rage glimmering in my eyes, she quickly backpedals, remarking "I mean, they're _not_… Or… We're best friends… Right?"

"Yeah." I brush this off with a barely masked shrug. "Of course, Lillian. Not like we're going to take a walk on the wild side and leave them in the dust, oh no. They're sooooo important."

"I can always tell when you're being sarcastic, Willa. Why are you so ticked off?"

I flare my nostrils. "I don't know why," I admit, discreetly feeling my cheek to prove, yes, it's getting flushed. "Guess I'm just a bit upset that it's the Reaping, you told 'em to stay home, sort of tricking them…. You know how it is."

"I certainly do," Lillian responds, pulling her pale blond eyebrows into a barely menacing glare. I retort with a scowl laced with venom. "Mum told me to get some healthy food for this morning. Guess we'll be parting ways?"

"So you're saying I don't eat healthfully?" I snap. "My dad's a doctor's assistant, and he's always on our backs to eat good food."

"Yeah," Lillian replies loftily, her eyes straying to just outside the large tent-lined street. It's not a bad street for being right in the middle of Eight, actually. Not too worn down. If anything, the cobblestone's rough and jagged, and the paint on the railings is still smooth and inky black. Tents project from the side, thrown upon thin rods that serve as support beams. Rain patters down heavily, and you can see the shadow of water collecting in the center where the canvases meet.

"Madison's Market, then?" I say, changing the subject and offering my arm to her. She accepts it with an animated grin, linking her own elbow with mine.

"Let's. I'm craving a vanilla bean cookie today."

Together we glide elegantly over the stone pavement to our favorite hang-out spot, Madison's Market. Casually we call it "Maddie's Mark" but that's only on regular days, save birthdays. Madison's is filled to the brim with tons of assorted goods, some useful and inexpensive and some pricey and have no logical use but they're so dang amusing that you have to purchase it. Plus, they have a small café in the front for those shopping who just want to grab a coffee.

We each snag a cranberry juice and a simple slice of buttered toast and take our regular table, a small one close to the wall. Our eyes meet briefly, but Lillian's dart away nearly instantly.

"Why" is out of my mouth before I can stop it, so hastily I add on, "Why are you all nervous?"

"We're not invincible," Lillian mutters, staring aimlessly into her juice. "And I know that if I do get picked, I couldn't even escape the bloodbath. I'm not strong or anything."

Rolling my eyes, I nibble on the crispy crust. "As if. There's millions of girls in Eight that are eligible. Not one person from our school has even come close to being Reaped."

Lillian gazes out into the busy street that bustles with people of all colors, shapes, and sizes. "I know," she whispers. "But even the threat looming overhead is terrifying. At least if you were Reaped, you'd stand a chance, being all bossy and that."

"Hey," I retort, offended. "'M not bossy. Shut up."

Lillian cracks a grin from her gloomy exterior. "See?" she giggles. "Bossy, bossy, bossy."

**Camo Russo, 18**

I draw my knees closer to my chin, still furiously chewing down on my flavorless wedge of gum. My eyes carefully watch out for predators. My instinct is not to fight; it is to flee. Waging war is pointless. Not gonna start any new battle.

Not like that past battle…

The casualties? There were many, but just one is still remembered by me. He was Atticus. Atticus Russo. My twin brother.

Everybody thinks he's dead.

That's not true.

The person who was killed was not Atticus Russo.

The person who was killed was named _Camo_. Camo Russo.

Funny story, that…

I hear a snapping noise and instantly my body begins to shudder with fierce apprehensiveness. I tuck the tiny slab of chewing gum neatly under my tongue and pull my knees in even closer to my chin, if even possible. My eyes widen as I see the image of the person come closer into my sight.

"Camo? What are you doing under the table?"

My eyes flicker down. "Nothing, Mom," I sigh as I crawl out.

She knows I am not Camo. She _knows_ I am Atticus, her firstborn son. The twin of the boy who died on that bloody, bloody night…

_The night sky is illuminated with flickering red fireworks that shriek as they career across the sky. The stars glimmered in silent knowledge, knowledge of what would happen that night._

_The revolt was not large, just consisting of fifty or so people, mainly boys over sixteen. They each carried a long, silver harpoon with a shred of patterned fabric wrapped tightly around the faded rubber grip._

_Camo Russo was next to his elder brother, Atticus. He watched in awe as Atticus strode so effortlessly, his face a mask of bravery and dignity both. He could only hope to one day be as fearless as his twin brother. Even his harpoon seemed more pompous, standing taller and shining more brightly than any other person's weapon. A guard blew on his shrill whistle and Camo's spine immediately straightened, his face staring ahead solemnly as all the rest of the men and women._

"_We've come a long way, boys and girls," shouted the colonel, spitting out tiny fragments of a cigar he had previously been puffing upon. "Tonight we'll show those effing Peacekeepers who's boss around District Eight! Seventy-four men and women, all closing in on their pretty li'l Justice Building, not nearly enough guards to fend us off!"_

_Another crimson firework exploded above his head, accentuating his words nicely._

_Atticus's eyes darted to his little brother to his left, whose hands were quivering around the heavy harpoon._

"_There's no going back now, Camo," he whispered. "It's go time."_

"_I know," Camo replied indignantly, puffing his chest out and forcing a ceremonious expression onto his face. Plastering a similar stern look on, Atticus averted his gaze to the looming building in front of the troops. The colonel, clad in navy, gave a puff on his thin, metallic whistle. _

_Nearly immediately a rush of Peacekeepers swarmed from all hiding spots- posing next to a gargoyle statue, behind shrubs, on top of a pillar, even in a small loft area that hung over the soldiers._

_Over half of the troops began spearing the Peacekeepers, their bodies collapsing and guns lying on the concrete ground, forgotten. Camo let out a scream. His legs, unsure of where to go, turned in opposite directions, causing his knees to buckle and limber body to come crashing to the ground. Atticus, in the middle of knocking a Peacekeeper's gun out of his hand with the harpoon, nearly missed the sight of a bullet being shot through Camo's head, showering nearby soldiers with bone fragments, carnage, and tufts of thick hair._

_Atticus couldn't stop screaming._

Her soft eyes beckon me to the loveseat, and I sit down gingerly, knowing the threat of our house being bugged. My father being a rebel troop leader has lead to many suspicious people over the years.

"You look like you've been crying," Mom prods me gently. "Are you thinking about Atticus?" She glides over her words easily. Practicing to call me 'Camo' has been hard, but she's learned even better than I have.

"Yeah," I mutter, rubbing a hand through my black locks and nibbling neurotically on my gum. "It's just not fair, Mom, he didn't know any better."

Mom sighs, her stare now looking out the window wistfully at the pouring rain. "We both know that now," she murmurs.

We both know that I am to be Reaped, by stern orders of President Snow. He's figured out who my father is and what really happened on that night of the revolt. I know that he'll enjoy watching me rot in that arena, not even showing my true identity of Atticus Russo. Instead, I'll be Camo– the weak, skittish brother of the boy rebel who died a gory death a year ago.

"I'm going to miss you," I whisper brokenly to my mother as she dabs away a pearly tear not unlike the ones that stream down our windows now.

Her embrace is the last one I give my mother, as she breathes back, "I'll miss you, At– I mean, C-Camo."

**Flitter Guide, 30**

I clutch my wine glass carefully as I observe my assistant, Passion, carefully dabbing at my boots with a tissue in hand and a small tub of varnish in the other.

"Make sure they sparkle," I bark. "That's the only thing the shorter kids will see are my shoes. Make sure they shine, but they won't fade in this wretched rain!"

"I'm trying!" screeches Passion, rubbing furiously at the worn leather. "Do you seriously need to wear these old loafers every Reaping? I'm exhausted of shining them for two hours straight before every single Reaping!"

"They need to sparkle," I reply, glaring furiously. "After that I'll have you comb through my mustache."

"No!" Passion gasps, placing a hand to her neck and tilting her head to the side, producing a satisfying crack. "I've worked on you for seven hours now, and it's just a couple minutes till you go on!"

"And yet, my shoes aren't sparkling!" I trill.

Passion glares, her magenta eyebrows drawing close to her freckled nose. "No," she seethes. "I don't care if your shoes aren't sparkling enough or if you even have little bugs crawling through your beard. You can do your bloody prepping yourself! I QUIT!"

"You're the last one in the prep team!" I call out to her as she sashays away.

"I don't care!"

"You, Kye, and Rhine are going to go back to prepping District Twelve!"

"CAN IT, FLITTER!" Passion howls, probably loud enough to be heard even over the thundering of that lamentable rainstorm.

Grinning to myself, I toss the unshining loafers to the side and pull on a pair of brand new ones. "Finally, I'm going to be getting a new prep team!" I squeal to myself.

"Ten seconds until you go on," a voice rings out, and I catch a glimpse of a lime green hand tugging on my wrist until I'm standing in front of the curtain. A young lady with pointed ears and that jade skin presses a button on her headset, mutters something to herself, and then, with a flick of her hand, the curtains open wide to reveal me.

The Treaty of Treason ended just before I walked in, and I see young, eligible kids quivering under my pointed stare. My beam doesn't reach my eyes, I know that, but I didn't expect such young kids to know.

"Today," I announce, "we pick our fabric princess and material king."

I hear groans from the elder kids and glare cuttingly over to them. "Ladies first, natch."

Intakes of breath are sharp on the female's side as I scrabble around in the Reaping Bowl for a minute or so. A slip of paper finally flies to my hands and I announce, "Willa Seamstress!"

A blond girl looking about sixteen emerges from a sea of girls, her jaw clenched and defined. _Ooh, we got a fighter this year_! I think excitedly to myself, a smarmy grin spreading across my face. But her acrid expression sure put a damper on the otherwise entirely pleasant situation.

"For our material king…" Discreetly I reach inside the bowl, even though my specific instructions were to say one name in particular— Camo Russo, a boy who should have been dead a year ago. The slip says 'Nire Copenbagger', but out of my mouth comes a resounding "Camo…. Russo!"

A boy emerges from the eldest section of males with a bored expression on his face. A tight, opaque periwinkle gum bubble slowly extends from his thin lips and pops right away. I glance over at Willa, whose face is flushed with anger. She notices me staring at her and hisses,

"Just wait till I come outta that arena. You'll be dead, you hear me?"

"If only what you were saying was the truth," I sigh, glaring at her furiously. I already don't like her.

"Excuse me, Mr. Happy-Happy-Joy-Joy," she huffs before averting her piercing blue eyes to Camo, who is blowing another gum bubble.

"District Eight!" I shriek out in ecstasy, "your tributes, Willa Seamstress and Camo Russo!" I glance back at them and force their hands together in a silent linking.

**A/N: Carry On by Fun.**

**Ah, yes… District Eight, the first district to rebel at the revolution. I think that both these tributes tie in with that very nicely, don't you? Willa's leadership tendencies and Camo's experience both will help them… Eh?**

**Sorry for the late (latER update, anyways) update. This week's been pretty busy. :p**

**QUESTION TIME.**

**What did you think of each POV?**

**Which tribute stands out to you more? Why?**

**Since the beginning, what are your three favorite scenes EVER?**

**From the beginning, what have your three favorite LINES been, from either tributes, their families, mentors, etc.?**

**Which three friend/family members (Like Colton from Lux, Dunite from Brucite, Talon from Alister) have stood out to you? Why?**


	10. 9 Tough

_**Don't make me sad, don't make me cry**_

_**Sometimes the road gets tough, I don't know why**_

**Alexis Tress, 17**

The air feels so sleek, so smooth on my exposed skin that it's almost hard to believe that somewhere in this world, where people are sniffing and feeling this very air, there is murder and disease littering streets. I sigh lightly, mixing my breath with the sweet, sweet air.

I'm almost free.

"Nearly," I whisper to myself, letting the word wash over my tongue. Nearly uneligible, nearly free as a bird. I'm so glad.

I blink a couple times, trying to free my abnormally long eyelashes from each other. They're sticky with my tears, tears that I shed earlier while eating breakfast. Mum and Dad didn't care though… of course they wouldn't. All they care about is work, and never do they show any signs of love and emotion to me. Bubbly, _bubbly_ me.

Amazing, really, how you can be so happy and chipper on the outside but so damaged on the inside.

Or maybe it's not so amazing. I've always been the one to admire, to wish to have my forgiving personality and gorgeous, tempting looks. Not to brag, of course, oh no. Never. But it _would_ be nice to one day try and be somebody else.

Perhaps a girl with thick, curly black hair and a teasing grin, one who can say one thing and truly, truly mean it. She'd be so daring, so brazen that nobody could even begin to question her.

Or maybe a youthful female with wide-set brown eyes and a trusting nature, not wishing to branch out on her own but knowing that one day, she'll be free from her quiet shell.

Possibly even a girl with completely amazing, wavy red hair that curls up on the ends, with a creamy skin tone and no freckles anywhere. One that's curious about things. Maybe a mortician's daughter, or a surgeon's assistant. Wishing to see more about what goes on in the body, like how the heart beats and why people cry and where we store air. Slightly morbid, but still fascinating.

Nobody, though, wants to be the girl with frosty blue eyes and plump cheeks, the girl who is so plain and nice to everybody, so freakishly _happy_ all the time. Not the boring girl. They want to be a person who stands out, who will one day be heard.

It seems that they'd want to be anything except for me.

Sad, really, but I'm used to the long-lasting stain of inconsolableness.

The air on my skin feels chilly and I shiver, casting my eyes down to the marble floor. People long for this, maybe. Maybe somewhere, someplace, somebody is throwing out a wish of living in a mansion with marble floorings and gilded chairs, with silvery curtain rods and filmy taffeta curtains that waver in the summer breeze. Those who live in poverty, these are the people who throw nasty looks at me when I'm out in public, their eyes greedily taking in my tight pants, leather boots, and stylish knit blouses. These are the people who hate me and adore me at the same time, when they know _nothing_ about me.

I hear a clicking noise behind me and my spine goes rigid, goosebumps crawling down my flesh rapidly. I straighten my vertebral column, the silky material clinging to it.

It's the sound I've come to both love hearing and dread at the same time– my mother's high heels clicking against our expansive marble floors.

"Alexis?" she shrieks accusingly to me. I flinch immediately, tears already pricking at the back of my eyelids and my stomach churning like it's making butter.

"Yes, Mum?" I whisper.

"You were staring out the window." I'm caught in her wide-eyed brown gaze. "What were you looking at, Alexis?"

I swallow thickly. "I was admiring the tulip beds," I say.

"Why?"

I catch myself right before I shrug, and instead reply boldly, "Well, why not? They're so beautiful, the way the light barely shines through the thin petals and the green arms stretching out to the sun. Have you ever looked at a tulip that way, Mum?"

Her nostrils flare. "Alexis!" she screeches. "They are _flowers_! You do not simply stare at flowers all morning, you useless, useless girl! Your father and I? We've worked so hard to get you the life you have! Why don't you read the magazines we give to you, or watch television? We buy them for _you_!"

My throat closes up in a swelling of emotion. "I'm sorry, Mum," I tell her miserably. "I'll go look at a book now, or something like that…"

Her beady brown eyes fixate on me as I discard the afghan that I was just holding. Under her evil stare, I shuffle to my bedroom, salty tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

_She doesn't know any better_, I try to console myself. _She'd never_ _do that if she knew it was hurting your feelings. No parent in their right mind would. Ever. Period._

But somehow, somewhere in a corner of my mind I know that this is not the truth. See, my mother has…. A disease. She feels no human emotions– not love, passion, hate, disgust, surprise. I don't know how she was diagnosed or anything.

She only married my father because he was a suitable business partner. I guess I was their love child.

_It's not fair,_ I often bellyache to myself. _How come a sweet girl like me had to be born to this unfortunate couple? Why not a nastier, lazy, imprudent child? They could do all the mean things they wanted to him or her._ Of course, I'd never wish for something like that to happen. Little old Alexis, too nice to do anything like that.

I twirl a small buttery blond lock of my hair on my finger, watching the dismal, murky clouds loom overhead, slowly but surely advancing onto the pastel-blue sky overhead. It seems too perfect a day to be the Reaping.

What if…

No, never.

**Cohush Nigrum, 13**

Somebody's crying.

"Why, why, why?"

Somebody's singing.

"Go home, across the riverbed, my child."

Somebody's screaming a resounding screech.

I scurry over to the person in question– a lanky teenage boy who has a thin sheen of sweat coating his facial skin. His extremely pale green eyes are rolled back into his head, and his lips are parted slightly.

"Shhh," I whisper, checking his name tag that's clinging to the bedpost. I've worked with so many patients today, I've nearly forgotten his name, his name that should be so familiar to me. "Channing, it's going to be alright…"

His eyes slowly roll over to me, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "My parents," he wheezed, "where are they?"

I swallow thickly. "You were in a house fire, Channing. They didn't make it out."

I've learned not to mince words around here. It makes it easier for me, my own parents, and sometimes knowing that their family members are in a better place helps the patients, soothes them so that they know they don't need to worry about them. And Channing? I saw him around Nine before the huge fire. He was always cheeky, his face stretched into a wide grin. When he first arrived here… the light that was continually burning in his eyes was, to say this in the most respectful way possible, burnt out.

He's sort of a miracle. They never expected him to wake up, and here he is, awakening for the sixth or seventh time, asking that same question for the umpteenth time.

Channing's eyes are hazy with tears as he mumbles a couple words, probably a prayer. He falls back onto his pillow with a small _plop_.

He looks so _peaceful_ lying there. As if the heavy burden of the Reaping isn't weighing him down one bit. So… _happy_.

Another screaming patient not two beds away brings me to my senses. Rapidly I careen over to the cot and throw a cold water pack on a mess of tangled, oily blond hair. Behind the matted hair lies two sparkling blue eyes and a pair of rosy lips that are open in a loud shriek, somewhat like a banshee.

I know this patient, been working with her for nearly four months. Her name is Axela, and it's been feared that she's going insane.

But the thing is…. She's _not_. I _know_ she's not. I knew her before she came in here, and she was the most innocent soul I've ever known. She was my school friend. Two years of an age difference didn't matter.

She was abused by her parents, I'm afraid, and one night her father threw her down a flight of stairs. She was conked on the head numerous times, each resulting in her "insanity". Although Axela might be going insane, I absolutely _refuse_ to acknowledge it.

"Ssssshhhh," I hiss, pressing the icepack to her damp forehead. Her nostrils flare as she seethes openly at me, cussing and attempting to scratch me. Her arms are held by iron restraints, and when I clench my fists, it's all I can do not to place a finger to that shrieking mouth.

It's just so terrible, how the girl so quickly became a shell of her former self.

"Cohush?"

It's Thyme, or "Mother" as most people call their parents. But here, it's all business to me. Calling her something as emotional as "Mother" would require myself to be brought down quite a few levels of professionalism. I can deal with calling her Thyme, though, even though the numerous stares of strangers brings my confidence down just a bit.

"Yes, Thyme?" I ask impatiently.

"If you'd like, I'd let you have the morning off." She shrugs her shoulders. "If you'd like to, anyways. You don't have to if you don't want."

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding in. "I'll stay here, thanks," I snap, glancing over at Axela. "I never want to leave."

Thyme nods slowly, fiddling with the split ends of her light hair. "Whatever you want, Cohush. It's all up to you. Compfrey and I could watch over this wing if you'd like to run out and play with your friends."

Ah, yes…. My imaginary friends, the ones I tell Thyme and Compfrey, my father, that I have simply so they'll get off my back about being antisocial. But it's not my choice. Without me, there would have been so many dead people. Pamela, the toddler who got tangled up in the spinning blades of a reaper. If not for me, nobody would have noticed her decaying skin on her back and she never would have got better. She would have easily died of blood loss. And then there's Charlie, the old man that nearly died of a kidney failure. Me, I administered the right medicines in just the right time. Thyme and Compfrey… they aren't as observant as I.

So many people would have been killed without my help. If I had friends, I'd be out with them. I'd never have noticed Pamela, picking at the skin on her back, or Charlie's few signs of kidney failure. I'd never have noticed Craft, how he kept babbling endlessly, how nobody else ever noticed how delirious he was. I'd never have seen the leg stump of Launa, which explained her severe blood shortage. I'd never have saved exactly twelve individuals on my own.

And the praise they give me? That praise, all the friends I need. With every warm word from a survivor, it's like my list of pals gets longer, longer, longer.

Call me crazy, but it's definitely worth it.

**Java Kareff, 29**

I cringe, facing myself in the mirror. I encircle an already frail wrist with a small rubber band, scowling blackly once I find out that it is too small to fit on the bony wrist.

I glance outside to where the victors are sitting solemnly. There's Venial Something-Or-Other, a woman who won many years ago. Her thick, wavy caramel hair suggests she's bold and daring, but to tell the truth, she's the sweetest victor I've worked with. Her Games, which took place in a common redwood forest, dragged by, but she never saw any bloodshed except at the final battle, since she immediately fled from the Cornucopia and had zero allies. The only reason she won was because she was so emaciated already, going without food and water for long periods of time was to her advantage. It was down to her and the boy from Three, but he was had already gone insane enough that he walked into his own electrical trap. Venial was proclaimed victor quite a while later, as it was at first unbelievable that the scrawny girl from Nine won.

Roland Sanders, a relatively young victor, won the 68th Games. His Games was packed with fighters, and besides the beloved Career pack, his alliance was the largest there was, consisting of him, his district partner, with whom he was completely smitten, the girls from Six, Eight, and Twelve, and the scrappy boy from Ten. His arena was a four-quadrant biome composed up of a tundra, a cliffy area, a beach, and a heavenly spring valley. His alliance first wandered into the tundra, but retreated on the second day right into the hands of the Career pack. The girls from Six, Nine, and Twelve were killed, as was the boy from Ten. That left the odd girl from Eight, Kaitlin or something, and Roland. Days ticked by quickly, and the Career alliance, or One-Two-Four's as they were called back then, fractured quickly. The boy from Eight who had joined rapidly picked off most of his allies. In the end, the District Four girl overpowered most of the other tributes in a feast, including David from Eight, speared the District Three girl to a column near the Cornucopia, and, with ill intent on her mind, sought out Roland and his ally in the rocky area. Roland, planning to kill his ally because she was so messed up, accidentally gave his plan away and his ally left, not wanting to kill him. She was soon to fall at the hands– rather, teeth– of violet-colored venomous snakes in the spring valley. It wasn't long after that when Four discovered Roland. It was an hour-long, bitter battle between Roland and Four, but eventually, the girl slipped on water from a freak typhoon and Roland dug his dagger through her throat.

Yes, most of Panem watched his Games with their hearts in their throats, as did I.

He's damaged now, though. I think that another young victor, Olivander, has been slipping him morphling tablets. You can see the rows of tiny holes neatly lined up in his skin. Yet he remains more intact than most victors I've worked with, so he's a star in my book.

Taking a quick sip of cranberry juice– I never was one for tequila or whatever the other escorts drink– I hobble out to the two adults, nodding clumsily.

"Drunk again?" Roland asks suavely, with a funny little smile on his face.

"I believe that I'm the cleanest escort here," I drawl, snatching a look at Venial. Her strange violet eyes gaze sadly at her feet.

"I wouldn't be surprised," she sighs. "All the rest have been so… damaged."

She's one to talk, being one of the most…. _Well-behaved_ victors.

"I don't know," Roland jokes, his ears perking up at the opportunity to tell a joke. "Phosphate's been pretty… jaded!"

I raise an eyebrow and Venial acts likewise.

"The escort for Three…. Phosphate… Her last name is 'Jaded'," he explains, his mood immediately dropping. "Never mind, OK? Apparently some people here can't take a joke."

"Apparently," I murmur, somewhat feeling like I'm a mother here. This kid victor's just not cut out for this stuff. Hell, he's only twenty.

My Avox taps my shoulder a couple times, signaling for me to walk out. I follow her silent command, and the two victors trail after me silently.

"Welcome, District Nine!" I greet them warmly as the kids watch the credits of the Treaty of Treason slowly fade out. "It's, once again, the Reaping! I hope you all are ready, because I sure am!"

I'm responded to with complete, sheer silence. Great, just great.

I let out a huge breath of air through my nostrils as I quietly saunter over to the female Reaping bowl. My fingers scrabble around for a second before I proclaim loudly:

"Our female tribute for this year is Alexis Tress!"

A light-haired girl emerges from the seventeen-year-old sector, her face enhanced boldly with worry and shock, her lips parted in a perfect circle. She is completely _expressionless_, the only clue that she is nervous being her eyebrows drawn together closely.

Smiling, I grab her icy cold hand and thrust it in the air. "And now Alexis will have the pleasure of selecting our male tribute!"

Still emotionless, Alexis lets her hand be forced into the huge glass bowl, and I swish it around pathetically until her fingers clamp tightly onto one. I pull her wrist out, sort of like an arcade prize. The letters are blackened and bold, easy to read. I tilt my head, announcing with joy, "Cohush Nigrum will be our male tribute!"

For a minute, there's nothing– nobody moves. Everyone glances around to try and find the boy in question. I see a visible rush of Peacekeepers at the side until finally, from a younger quadrant, a frizzy-haired boy slowly begins to plod up the steps. My eyes grow wide as I see more and more of him– he's scrappy, pale, and very, very young. These are not good signs at all.

He trots up next to Alexis and I, his face lined with disbelief and sheer terror. For once in my career I feel guilty, allowing his wide sepia eyes to swallow me up.

Numbly I force their hands together, two ice-cold hands crushing together in an unwelcome way. Alexis's eyes are blank, her lips still parted. Cohush's eyes are slitted in the most irritated way they possibly can.

Still grinning, but now more uncertainly, I move the microphone closer to my lips. "Alexis Tress and Cohush Nigrum, District Nine! Your tributes!"

**A/N: Born to Die by Lana del Ray.**

**I'm nearly certain that I'm going to use this song again, for an arena chapter, so I didn't put the title, just a small fragment of the lyrics. Just putting that out there.**

**For all you submitters and readers, both review-y and silent… I GIVE YOU, THE BLOG. I made it myself! It's called ashotinthedarkhungergames . blogspot . com - just take out the spaces and there you'll have it. Deaths will be notified there when we come to it, as well as a memorial. YAYAYAYAY. ^.^**

**Oh, and by the way- Roland Sanders? He was my last victor. To see his Games, the title is "They Bleed All the Same", on my profile page, of course.**

**Alrighty—these questions starting at number 2 are about the blog, so pull up a webpage and take a crack at it!**

**QUESTION TIMEEEEE.**

**Which of these tributes stands out more to you? Why?**

**Regarding the blog, which tributes surprised you? Why?**

**Which tributes were exactly how you expected? Why?**

**From the blog, which tributes have changed your opinion on them? Why?**

**Lastly, what are your thoughts on each tribute's little blog blip? **

**Might take a bit to answer those questions, but hey. We got time. :)**


	11. 10 I'm So Lucky Lucky

_**You can fool yourself**_

_**I promise it will help**_

**Savanna Poppet, 18**

Most people naturally assume that, if you're a District Ten native, you must have long, chestnut brown hair always up in a ponytail, you must always wear baggy, rugged jeans, and you have to live on a huge, sprawling ranch. _Um, no_. Most people in Ten have brunette hair, that's true, but it's usually chopped off short to the shoulders to avoid getting tangled up in barbed wires. Thus, no ponytail. Baggy, rugged jeans are a given for old men who get down on their knees a lot, but most people's pants are perfectly fine, not-really-worn denim. And a sprawling ranch is only for the luckiest of the lucky.

Me? I guess I live up to the stereotype. I have long, wavy, fringey brown hair and mud-colored eyes. My jeans are usually pretty holey, but that's by my own choice. And yes, my father owns a horse ranch, but that's just because my uncle is the mayor and therefore he is dubbed part of the "Royal Family" and blah blah blah, after two hours of explanation, this farmland being passed down through generations, nahnahnahnahnah, something about the person who founded District Ten, blah, blah, blah, the Poppet family owns one of the largest horse ranches.

I'm sort of like a horse princess, if you think about it. Part of the Royal Family, lives on a horse ranch, training the very horses that will soon pull chariots containing this year's tributes…

And I'm the heir to this huge acreage. My sisters are both younger, so therefore I get first pick. Either the fortune or the farmland. But I reckon, if you buy the land, you can easily hire a couple farmhands to plant some soybeans and corn, rotate the crops every couple years, and eventually turn out a beautiful green bounty that will sell for nearly an eighth of the fortune. In eight years, I'd have as much as the fortune plus the farmland that's been passed down through generations. My bratty little sisters, Holly and Reno? They've had split the fortune. Holly most likely would have started a business, soon to fail, and Reno's already a little gambler.

I've always been the quirky, responsible one. Even my name sounds like some old birthing mother. _Savanna_. Not cool and traditional like _Reno_, not exotic like _Holly_.

_Savanna._

That's the thought that runs through my mind most mornings, my first name. Like today, I was simply staring at the pine ceiling, my mind empty except for the resounding echo of my name.

Reno was still snoring in her bed in the loft across from mine, as both lofts overlook the large kitchen. I can hear her pretty well, especially when she and Holly throw teddy bear jubilees. God, so annoying.

"Reno," I bellow out, not unlike the cows that are native to our land. "Renooooo."

She awakes with a start, her huge, docile eyes immediately linking with mine. "Savvy," Reno sang out, awakening Holly, the only member of our family with ashen blonde hair.

"You were snoring again," I call.

Reno shakes her head furiously. "Nuh-uh. Momma gave me those sleeping pills again."

I roll my eyes; she's talking about the protein-enriched vitamins Mom gives her, calling them 'sleeping pills' so she feels more… secure. Secure in a sort of twisted sense. Reno's always felt safer when she's not conscious. "Is that so?"

Holly joins in the conversation, immediately hollering, "WOULD YOU TWO DOLTS SHUSH AND LET A POOR GIRL SLEEP?"

Holly is thirteen with an attitude. She's entered the 'teenhood', as she calls it, and therefore has gotten more aloof with every waking hour. Hah, as if. My sister still enjoys throwing tea parties with Reno, who's nine. It doesn't help that she's blessed with gorgeous, curly platinum hair.

"Holly," I shriek out. "Holly, you're really not helping matters here."

"SHUT. UP. NOWWW."

Rolling my eyes for the second time in a minute, I swing my legs out of bed and glance at the picture that's framed on my nightstand. The cheeky smile beams out at me like it's done for three years now. Him. Elijah.

When I was fifteen, my all-time crush, Elijah Bruno, was Reaped for the 68th. I did everything- visited him at the Justice Building, stayed up till three in the morning to watch him train, even tried to persuade his girlfriend that he would die slowly, just in case he came back and she wanted him as her boyfriend, still. One day Elijah would be mine; I just knew it.

Um, yeah. He died on the second day at the hands of a Career. I was furious. All my hard work to bring Elijah back for _nothing_. When the victor arrived at our district to deliver a victory speech, I stared him down and eventually had to be escorted to the giant black iron fence that outlined the Justice Building square. From there I eyeballed him ragingly, until finally he stuttered out a "bye".

Who cares if the two were allies? He could have sacrificed himself for Elijah. Idiot. Or _dolt_, as Holly would say.

I throw on a soft, flannel navy shirt and my worn-down jeans. My hair was soon arranged into a cute, messy little bun. And to top it all off, I wore a cowgirl hat. Such a spitting image of a cowgirl, I was. _Haha_. As if.

I stride downstairs to the expansive kitchen. My uncle and his family is there; not so surprising, I guess. He's always preferred our kitchen window's view to any in his household. Him, his wife, and his infant child, Betty, are all arm-in-arm (minus Betty, who is on her mother's lap) next to the table. Mom's frantic, pulling together as many muffins and coffee cups she can find. Dad's sweating, even though this is his own brother. Is impressing him really that important? It's not worth it.

"Hello, Uncle."

**Nubu Chandlers, 15**

The mere sight of Joffree kissing Jeannette is making me queasy. Squirming uneasily, I try to get off the bench, but Joff quickly stops and pulls away from Jeannette. "Hang on," he mutters to her, peering at me with shocking icy eyes. "Be right there, Nubu."

So confidently he tells her something, and she nods back with wide eyes. All cocky and self-satisfied, Joff stands up and watches her leave until she's just a misty grey form in the distance.

"All right," he begins, but I cut him off.

"What did you say to her? Normally she's so clingy."

"Told her that it's a bro day," Joffree grins. "Just me and my best fray-und."

"Friend." I'm quick to correct him.

"Huh? Yeah, that's what I said."

Not wanting to get picky, I sigh patiently and say nothing, simply staring off into the distance, my vision growing slightly hazy at the sides like usual. Joff calls my name a few times, to which I respond with a not-so-eager reply. "Yeah, Joffree?"

A smile slowly forming over his oval-shaped face, he announces, "You seem upset. Let's go find you a girl to hang out with!"

"You mean a girlfriend?" I say doubtfully.

"What else would I mean?" Joffree shrugs his muscular shoulders, which ripple cleanly through his light orange shirt.

"I'm not the surest about this, Joff," I stall for time, my eyes meeting the ground awkwardly.

He peered at me, trying to decipher something. After furrowing his brow for a second, he shrugged like he hadn't a care in the world. "Um, alright," he coughs out. "So, erm, what do you want to do?"

He was making this more awkward than it needed to be. Swallowing thickly, I glance up at his glittering hazel eyes. "I don't care," I respond. "I just don't think I need to be meeting a girl every morning of every day– you know how it is." I attempt a grin. But Joffree's genuinely confused.

"What? What do you mean, you don't want to meet a girl?" he chokes out, his face flushing. "Girls are, like, the peanut butter to our jelly, the, um, the mustache to our nonexistent beards! We're like, the perfect duo!"

I roll my eyes discreetly. "I know, Joff," I soothe. "I just don't think that today is a very appropriate time, being the Reaping and all."

Joffree relaxes just a tad. "You're right," he says, more self-assuring and to himself than talking to me. "Nerves would probably get in the way."

I nod. "Exactly. And then I'd flub up big-time, and where would we be, then?"

"Girl-less." Joffree freezes, his eyes huge. "Yeah, we don't have to get you a girl now." He considers what he just said, then quickly nodded twice. "Yeah, no girls on Reaping day. That'll be our tradition from now on."

The corners of my mouth curl up into a small smile, happy that for once, my girl-crazy best friend is agreeing with me. "Excellent," I remark, eyes flickering over to the cobblestone streets. Humming slightly, I ask, "Hey, Joff, want to go and see the horses?"

"You seriously care about horses?" Joffree responds, his nose wrinkled up in disgust. "That's so gay, Nubu."

This hits me hard. I glare at Joffree, a rancid taste crawling up my throat. "What did you say?"

He shrugged, like it was no big deal at all. "I said that it's gay."

I inhale sharply through my nose, nails digging into my palms as the result of clenched fists. "Why did you say that?" I spit out each word separately.

Joffree furrows his eyebrows in confusion, obviously sort of confused to why I'm overreacting. "I don't know… but horses are, like…"

I force myself to make eye contact with him, but his own eyes are downcast towards his feet. "Horses are our lives," I speak harshly. "We train them so we can have bread to survive on."

"But you want to hang out with the horses?" Joffree shakes his head. "Just…. No."

He's being like a little child, and I'm pretty sure he knows it. Glaring, I stand up to my full five-feet-seven-inches and stride towards the direction of the horse farms. A sneaky quick peek back confirms that he's simply standing there, making no signs to follow me whatsoever. Whatever. I never needed friends. I could be perfectly happy on my own. Even when everybody else was hanging around in groups of two or three or more, even when I was alone, sipping my thermos full of sweet water, I observed. And what did I observe, you ask?

I saw that the human race is extremely selfish. Thievery. Deceit. Every bad temper lurked inside the deepest corners of everybody, and there was nothing anybody did to try and prevent it.

That's why I isolate myself most of the time; I'm scared of what people will say when they get to know me better. There's nothing more to it– I'm _scared_.

So what if Joffree wasn't following me to the horse pens? He could just shove it. I _didn't_ care in the least.

**Huckerton Heights, 30**

Nibbling on the end of my bright blue hair, I peer over to the two mentors for this year– Eagle Hugh and Jamie Hills. Both rather boring and old. District Ten hasn't had a victor for twenty-four years, resulting in exactly no promotions for any escort here. Me, it's my third year in escorting and I've skipped over Twelve. Not so bad, if I say so myself. If I keep this up, I just might be to District Two within twenty years.

_But seriously…._ I contemplate to myself silently, eyes pouring over Eagle and Jamie, _they could have given me some peppier victors to work with. These two look like they've been through a thousand wars._

Eagle, a woman with a strongly clenched jaw and light brown hair, is very gruff, silent, and seemingly angry. When asked a silly question she often barks out an answer, then flops back in her chair like a dead fish. Her Games were fun to watch, at least. At the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, she ran directly in to snatch up two backpacks and a machete. In her Games, she was ruthless, making only one ally and then allowing him to ride her coattails until the final six, when she killed him in his sleep. Otherwise, she was no better than the Careers. She stalked down tributes in the night, slitting their throats and stealing their supplies. When the final two were announced, her and the slender girl from One, Eagle targeted her from a distance, shakily attempting to pick her off with a bow and arrow from a cliff's top, eventually making her way down and slashing her in the back with the same machete she had gotten from the beginning.

Jamie was a bit kinder in her own Hunger Games. Her arena was a heavenly flower garden, and everything seemed to be just peachy in there. Even the Cornucopia was coated with roses. She, with the duo from Five, dashed out and picked up a messenger bag and two knives on the way. The Careers murdered most of the tributes in cold blood, but the boy from Five always seemed to sense whenever they were lurking around a corner and therefore, his allies were always alerted. On the fifth day, it was the final eleven and they were attacked by shaggy blue muttations. The boy died immediately of a thick horn to the stomach, while the girls escaped with lesser injuries. Five's girl was worse for wear, though– a horn was implanted in her collarbone. Out of pity Jamie killed, and didn't kill again until the final battle, where the boy from Seven was unarmed and weakened.

But now they've both turned to some sort of thing to keep them going– with Eagle it's alcohol, with Jamie it's morphling. Not the best thing, I must admit, for an escort to deal with– a crabby sixty-something woman who's nearly silent and drunk and a shy, odd lady who's a little loopy around the edges– but it's better than most of the other districts, I suppose.

I smooth down the front of my silky lime green overalls, which I wore especially to represent this district. For Eleven I had a farmer's sunhat permanently plopped on my head. If I'm correct in predicting my next promotion, I'll be clad in an ironing-woman costume, though I'm a man.

Eagle's and Jamie's quiet presences are suddenly gone, and with a start I realize I'm supposed to follow them. Like always, I was lost in my thoughts. Nearly tripping over my own three-inch high-heeled boots, I stumble onto the stage with a peculiar grin painted onto my orange skin.

"Welcome, welcome, to the Reaping for the 71st Annual Hunger Games," I drawl cheerily. "Today I will draw the two lucky tributes that will compete side by side twenty-two others in the bloody, vivacious, vivid race to the death!"

I'm responded to with nothing but sunken-eye stares, hollow mouths puckering in silent agony. A certain girl on the twelve-year-old sector catches my eye, her fat brown braids looped cautiously around her neck. Her blue irises meet my grey ones and she gasps in surprise.

"Ladies first, by tradition," I announce playfully, my hand quickly sliding into the circular globe. A slip darts into my hand, and I pull the piece of paper up, hoping for a fighting tribute. "Savanna Poppet!"

The name itself sounds flimsy and weak, like a piece of cardboard. That's what the girl reminds me of, as she trots up to the stage, lines creased in her forehead. She has crimp-like chestnut hair and somewhat large front teeth. But take that scared look away and I'm sure we've got a fighter on our hands! I beam at her, allowing her to smile apprehensively back.

"And now for the boys," I remark joyously, plunging my hand into the globe's sister bowl. Almost immediately I feel the perfect slip and I pull it up. "Nubuon Chandlers!"

A boy with permanent dimples emerges from the front of the crowd, his eyes scrunched tight in denial. He's in shock, poor boy. He's a bit stronger built than Savanna, although definitely younger. He looks almost mysterious in a heather gray sweatshirt and dark jeans.

"Nubu, please," he squeaks out to me, his enormous eyes quickly meeting mine before darting away to take in Savanna, who's a good half foot taller than him.

Still smiling at the rest of the relieved tributes, I chirp out a quick "Your tributes, Savanna and Nubu!" before I ask them to shake hands. Savanna grabs Nubu's a bit too briskly, and the poor boy shies away like a frightened rabbit minus the velvety ears. The girl throws their entwined hands far into the air, and I can't help but smirk quietly to myself. We just might have a victor this year, it seems.

**A/N: I'm So Lucky Lucky by Lucky Twice.**

**It was so hard to choose a song for this chapter. I considered multiple ones… some in the drawing were Colton Dixon's, some were by the Pierces, and then there was Lady Gaga. But this seems so upbeat like Savanna, so…. **_**Yeah**_**.**

**Alrighty, I love these two. Some of you might recognize a certain Savanna, though…. Hm. Nubu's a newcomer, as is everybody else, though.**

**QUESTION TIME :P**

**1. Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**2. Which POV was your favorite, in this chapter alone?**

**3. What are your five favorite lines spoken by any character, from Chapter One to now?**

**4. Which chapter has been your favorite? Why?**

**5. General thoughts on the blog?**


	12. 11 Red

_**It's like the colors in autumn- so bright,**_

_**Just before they lose it all**_

**Bark Umbral, 15**

People must think I'm delusional, skimming to the top of the tree with this huge, somewhat delusional beam plastered onto my face. Every single one of the other children have extremely solemn expressions smothering their own faces. They look so… defeated. I frown slightly, glancing over to the adults, who are working a couple orchards over. Even from this distance, I can see the ends of their lips turned down sadly.

Then I peer over at my best friend, Murray. He's much bulkier than I, visible muscles rippling under his long-sleeved shirt and a strong, clenched jaw outlining his oval face. Right now his jaw looks even tighter than usual, because he's gritting his teeth. Murray's picking a few pears from the branches below me, seeing as I'm much lighter and therefore can grab onto the slimmer, more willowy branches. That's how it is– two kids to a tree, no more or less. It was sheer luck that Murray was assigned to be my "tree partner".

My eyes dart over to see the neat row of Peacekeepers, each of whom looks exactly like a large bug. Making sure their helmet faces are directed in a different direction, I carefully slip a small pear under the waistband of my pants, then quickly shaking my leg so it falls down into the tucked-in part of my pants, which are connected to the thick black boots. There. The pear joins the others that I've stashed down there, although it causes some discomfort near my heel.

It's cliché, I know, to have a child stealing food to support his family. But it's what most kids do, actually, to store food in order to feed another mouth at the supper table. Luckily, it's just my parents and I, so we each get a couple extra pears to eat. All the food and yet, I'm still slimmer than anything. Stuff like that confuses me, really.

My eyes scan the tree for any extra pears, and, seeing none, I hop down a few branches and poke Murray with the toe of my boot.

"Yeah, Bark?" he sounds annoyed for some reason.

I quickly speak in a chipper tone to try and improve his mood. "Ah, just enjoying the delicious smells of sun baked pears, what about you?"

"They're not delicious."

"They _are_," I drawl dramatically. "They're completely better after they've been fully drenched in foot sweat."

Murray cracks a smile. "Foot sweat?"

I gingerly pat the side of my thick black boot, keeping my eyes on the Peacekeepers. "My feet have been sweating all day. Exhausting work, really."

Murray's hazel eyes widen in realization, and he speaks harshly. "You stole more?" he whispers rapidly. "Bark, that's terrible!"

I frown. "Don't act so surprised," I say crossly. "You have four mouths to feed, too– Latisha, Estelle, and your own parents." Murray has nothing to say at that– he just glares at me in the most irritable, irate way. In response, I grin. "Guess some can't handle the heat?" I tease.

Murray scowls, plucking the last pear off the tree and pitching it into the nearly-full wicker basket. I know I'm treading on a thin wire here, so I stop and instead march to the line with my own basket, behind loads of other underfed, scrappy kids. I feel Murray's eyes boring into me from behind, but I easily ignore him. It's all I can do, anyways…

A rough hand grabs my shoulder and throws me backwards, spilling the fresh pears everywhere. "Hey!" I splutter, my small heart pounding miles a minute.

I heard a brute-like laugh and peered up to come eye-to-eye with a grinning face; it was the local band of rebelling thieves. They were nearly never caught, although enough rumors floated around about them that you had to know they were true. Their names were Rex, Jason, and Quill and they were the meanest nineteen-year-olds around.

"Give us your basket, you little twit," hisses Quill, his breath uncomfortably close to my ear.

"Yeah," echoes Jason. "Do it."

My eyes widening in immense fear, I nod shakily and my hands begin to stretch out to give them the basket, only half full of pears now since Quill knocked them all out. My tongue is sandpapery, feeling more and more like a desert with every glance into Quill's greedy eyes.

All of a sudden, there was an enormous whoop and Quill comes crashing to the ground. Peacekeepers had begun to take notice, but that's not what had knocked the older boy down– it was the angry face of my best friend, Murray! _Was he crazy_? I grit my teeth, annoyed that my heart was still thundering out of my chest.

A white-clothed Peacekeeper drags Murray off of Quill and others immediately crowded Jason and Rex, each of whom were clenching their teeth tightly in rage.

"Has he hurt you?" a metallic voice of a woman Peacekeeper hums in my ears faintly. Gazing up brokenly into her black fencing mask, I shake my head twice, my eyes flickering faintly over to the angry trio that are being led away. If I deny everything, maybe when they come back for me they'll go easy on me…

"Do not lie, it will only come back to bite you in the neck," the female Peacekeeper commands in a much stronger voice. I imagine cold, glittering eyes behind the protective black glass shield, the ones that see death and misery every day. I shake my head rapidly.

"N-n-no, they d-d-didn't hurt m-me," I choke out, my eyes straining. "They accidentally knocked me down, you s-see."

The Peacekeeper makes a sound of annoyance and speaks a few more harsh words, but I don't hear them. Instead… In the corner of my eye I see Murray being dragged away, flinging his limbs wildly and cursing colorfully to anybody within earshot. Most likely he'll be arrested too, or whatever they do to them. And it's all my fault. Tears prick my slitted chocolate eyes, causing a rush of heat to come over my skin.

A shaky breath is taken and I stand up, nodding to the Peacekeepers that may have just saved my life, and I begin to collect the hard pears to put them back in my basket.

**Nessa Aoki, 14**

My light tread barely sounds on the fragile stairs; I'm light, even gentle when I scamper down the staircase.

Mother's in the kitchen, her willowy form facing the wall as she absent-mindedly chops up some apple bits. "Excited for the Reaping, Nessa?" she asks flatly.

My stomach grumbles as I catch a glimpse of the fruit. "Not especially," I tell her truthfully. "I guess a little bit, but the fact that they said I had to be in the Justice Square makes me nervous."

See, every year there's a specific crowd of kids that has to be called to the Justice Square, just because there's way too many kids to actually fit into the block. It's for certain that one of those kids will be Reaped, because the actual Reaping of the paper slips begins two weeks previously.

"You were there when you were twelve," remarks Mother blandly. "It's not that special. I honestly doubt that you'd be Reaped."

I blink anxiously a few times. "You really think so?" I gush. Then, in a more restrained tone, I ask quietly, "If I was Reaped, though… You'd come to visit me in the Justice Building, right?"

Mother swivels her head to face me, her startlingly black eyes piercing through me. I know she's not looking directly at me; she never does anymore. "Sure," she offers. "I'm sure your father would, too, and Layla. And definitely that one loner kid you always hang out with… Joshua, is his name?"

"Yeah, Joshua," I sigh. Knowing that your mother doesn't really care whether you're Reaped or not has got to be the worst feeling in the world. She _used_ to, sure. Back when I was twelve and got picked to be in the crowd, she sobbed for hours. But after my brother died, it was like she adopted a coat of thick armor and wouldn't dare to let anything pass its barrier.

Twisting a hank of hair around my finger, I wander upstairs to Layla's room, where my little sister is boring her eyes into her textbook. "Studying already?" I joke.

Layla looks at me with such an earnest look, I'm sorry I said anything. "Oh, no," she says truthfully. "But we do have a test in math tomorrow, so I need to get ready for that."

I nod a few times, a smirk forming on my thin face. "I thought you hated school."

"Oh, I do!" Layla nods empathically. "But the test, I don't wanna flunk like I did last time."

"You flunked last time?" I scan my memory to try and remember anything about her failing a test. "When was this?"

"Two weeks ago," Layla says.

"Well, that's too bad."

"Yeah…" she grows quiet, then solemnly states, "it was just when Momma got all upset over our baby brother."

My eyes immediately grow moist in remembrance of our younger brother who died of scarlet fever some weeks ago. Mom was so upset over it, we weren't even allowed to speak his name aloud. My life was a swirling vortex of sadness back then, at least until Layla reminded me that there was more hope in life, even in the simplest things– a pure white flower growing despite the ashes that surrounded it, the singing voice of a bubbly little toddler, even the simple four note tune that is often sung around the orchards.

I bid her a quick goodbye and rush down the stairs, well aware that there's but an hour before the Reaping. Rain has begun to drizzle down lightly, creating small popping noises everywhere, so I duck back inside the porch to snag my thin navy jacket off of the rocking chair.

I _know_ he's in our usual spot. He _has_ to be. If his abusive stepfather didn't let him go… I don't really know what I'd do, but I'd sure be furious.

But as I near the edge of the orange orchard, hidden by a gigantic pile of crates, I see his familiar, cheeky face. My eyes light up in recognition and I dart forward, not even caring that the rain's dousing my jacket through and through. He sees me too, and his own willowy form comes dashing over to me.

Our bodies smash together, and with a groan we stumble away from each other. Inwardly, though, I'm singing out in joy. Without a word Joshua cracks a grin and throws his arms around me in an unexpected hug, our limbs meshed together under the downpour of rain.

"He let you come out here?" I sigh happily.

Joshua nods, his chocolate brown eyes glancing into my own. "I had to told him I was working extra hours, though."

"Josh!" I giggle, pulling away from him. "You liar."

He shrugs gleefully. "You should be thanking me most of all, Ness."

I nod solemnly. "I know, I know," I let out a breath, itching my chin. "He's just so… so mean." 

"My mom likes him, so who am I to complain," states Josh icily, hanging his head miserably. "And it's not like I can have an effect on her love life, anyways."

"Who says?" I try to make the situation a bit lighter and happier by cracking a joke, but Joshua doesn't take it. He shrugs a response and picks at a scab on his thumb before mumbling something under his breath.

"What was that?"

Joshua glances up. "I just wish she'd know how _bad_ Kirk is for her," he mutters. "The second she turns her back, Kirk is there, scowling at us and everything."

My heart goes out to him. Josh never did anything wrong; he doesn't deserve a mean parent.

"I just wish," Joshua begins, then quickly shakes his head and presses his hands to his damp hair, squeezing his head like it's trapped in a vise.

"Wish what?" I ask quietly.

He can't respond in the time it takes for a flashing white bolt of lightning to strike the crates and topple over. My eyes widen in fear and I let out a huge scream, clenching my hands into tight fists. A tower of crates leans ominously towards me, shies away. A gust of wind suddenly blows directly into my face and the tower begins crashing down.

"_NESS_!" shrieks Joshua, leaping to grab me. He seizes my elbow while I'm still rooted to my spot, then drags me to the side as the boxes tumble down just beneath my toes.

He saved me.

**Paolo Thornez, 40, District Eleven escort**

"Hello, _hello_!"

I pump the hands of Seeder Tax and Chaff Knightly rapidly, chattering a mile a minute like some possessed chipmunk. "_So_ nice to meet you in person! I watched _your_ Games-" I jab a finger into Chaff's chest- "around seventeen times, I was _that_ enthralled! The way you stabbed the boy from Two in the neck so fiercely was _such_ amazing work!"

"Flattered," mutters Chaff, for once sober.

"And Seeder." I stop and can't do anything but smile, feeling waves of happy adrenaline gush out of my veins. "Seeder…. I have no words at all to describe your _epicness_!"

Seeder visibly forces a smile, nodding back a hello. "It's nice to make your acquaintance too, Mr. Thorne."

I shake my head, still giggling as the hot pink dreadlocks slap against my cheeks. "No, no, no, no, no! It's Thornez, with a 'z'! I added the z to give it more… to give it more…" I can't think of the right word. Then it hits me and I leap up excitedly. "I have added the 'z' to give it more _ZAZZINESS_! It's so _ZAZZY_!"

Seeder blinks while Chaff bursts into raucous laughter, slapping me on the back. With a yelp, I'm propelled forward into the face of a pale, light-haired Avox. I push myself off disgustedly, and for good measures spit on the thing. "You aren't a very good cushion," I hiss at her, my eyes shooting daggers.

Seeder seems amused when I rejoin the two mentors. "So, tell me," she begins. "You decide to rub elbows with people who were the original misfits until we won, and you spit upon one who was braver than most and tried to start a rebellion?"

My lime eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Is that what I was just doing?" I ask distractedly. "I didn't notice."

Chaff and Seeder share a private smile, which makes me feel a bit left out. With a harrumph I plop down on a plastic chair that was provided for me at the beginning.

It's my first year as an escort, and I really don't want to mess this up. I've heard that once you earn yourself a victor, you immediately get propelled forward four or five districts, and I wouldn't mind a shot at District Seven while I'm still young, agile, and forty years old.

Nervously I bounce on the balls of my feet as the Treaty of Treason plays out, watching carefully as Seeder and Chaff take their seats and wave to the crowd. Then all at once the same light-haired Avox who I spat upon earlier pushes _me_ onto the stage, rather roughly if I say so myself. Dusting imaginary dust off of my silver and neon yellow trousers, I beam at the flocks of dark-skinned kids who have gathered.

"Welcome!" I shrill out. "One of you lucky children will have the honor of winning for District Eleven this year!" My voice cracks. "Against tradition, I think I'll select our healthy-looking man today, eh?"

Nobody gives me any response back, so I scamper over to the male's Reaping bowl. Only one name is contained in all of these slips, the same name printed on every single one. And it's like that for the females, too. Something about the tributes being picked weeks before?

I carelessly withdraw a large sheet of paper and move back to the microphone. "Bark Umbral? You're going to win, my fine man!"

There's no sign of any tribute and I swallow thickly. Suddenly, there's movement in one of the middle sections. A scrappy kid is lifted up by the kids around him and he crowd-surfs, unconscious, to the stage. Bark has just fainted.

Scowling at the limp form of an emaciated male, I grab a female's slip. Hopefully this one has a little meat on her. I wouldn't mind that at _all_.

"Nessa Aoki!"

There's a collective gasp from both the girls' side and the boys' side. A little girl with bushy black hair in a braid slowly moves up to the stage, her face clouded with disbelief. On the male's side, a guy with damp raven-colored hair is beginning to sob, shrieking out her name. Nessa peers wistfully over to the boy before mounting the steps to move next to me.

I smile thinly, not at all pleased with the outcome of this Reaping. Two scrawny kids, a fainter and a shocked one. Couldn't they at least try to be happy? I mean, there's a one-in-twenty-four chance they could defeat all odds and all the other brutal, gore-hungry kids. It's not a death wish, obviously.

Bark awakens with a start as I slosh a paper cup of warm water onto his face. He sees the little girl and I. With a moan, he begins to fall backwards again but I snatch his wrist, dragging him up to meet his district partner.

"I'm Nessa," the girl states quietly, shyly.

"I'm…. I'm Bark?" Bark says it as more of a question, still hazy and dizzy. "Wha… what happened?"

I force a shining beam onto my chin. "You were selected to win the Hunger Games!" I cheer.

Bark's eyes stay, gaunt and hollow, on me as he slowly speaks these words: "I know one thing more sure… Like a stumbling ghost, I'm gonna haunt this arena."

**A/N: Red by Taylor Swift.**

**Wahoo, only one more Reaping left. Let's kick dis into HIGH GEAR! YEAH! **

**Nessa, you can't help but love her. Same thing with Bark. They're both so cute! xD Oh, and we saw Bark's quote right here. How convenient.**

**Mkay, I have **_**nothing**_** to say. Except… YAY, spring break means tons more updates. So yeah. Mkay, nothing else to say, so…. So let's skip to the questions, shall we? *cheers, cheers***

**QUESTION TIME.**

**1. What were your thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**3. How do you feel about all of the escorts so far?**

**4. Any early predictions for what the last Reapings' tributes will be like?**

**5. Which song has been your favorite?**


	13. 12 Born this Way

_**I'm beautiful in my ways**_

'_**Cause God makes no mistakes.**_

**Annabell Berry, 17**

"Did you take the feathers and glue over to Mrs. Spine's house?"

I freeze slightly under the glare of my father. I can feel heat crawling up my cheeks and offer him a slight smile, nodding enthusiastically.

Like a predator on a mission, my father slinks away to check on something and I allow myself a sigh of relief. The smile fades as quickly as it arrived, and my cheeks slowly return to normal.

It's like this every day. Sort of a pattern, really. I wake up to rush to the store and get everything ready for the day, my father comes in late and hollers at me, I'm the victim, I do what he says, he doubts me, and when I prove to him that I did what he asks he gets all upset and calls me terrible names. I don't want our relationship to be like that. I just wanted a simple father-daughter business, like I read about in the books.

Except for one thing– my father's making it undoubtedly hard to accomplish.

_That's why you're doing what you're doing,_ my mind reminds me silently, and I clasp my hands over my ears, over hunched shoulders. Maybe a walk will help me clear my head. It's not like my father will care, honestly.

I don't even bother to leave a note, simply throw on a warm jacket and step outside, where the fog immediately cools down the hot skin on my exposed flesh. I let out a muted sigh and shove my hands deep into my pockets, blinking away the dewdrops that are forming on my eyelashes.

But only a while into my walk, through the moist veil of my eyelashes I see a familiar face. Scrubbing my fist on both eyes, I blink a few times to see the trio of my best friends, Tilly, Ruby, and Winter.

"Bell!" shrieks Ruby excitedly, flinging her arms out for a hug. I glance at Winter, who's currently gazing at the fog in a mystified way, and then at Tilly, who's jamming her thumbs inside her worn mittens in an attempt to get warm.

"How's life?" Winter asks loftily, her huge blue eyes still completely focused on the horizon. It's rather unnerving. I pull away from Ruby and shrug.

"We're all nervous, aren't we, Tilly?" Ruby says quickly. Tilly nods a few times before muttering something out.

"What?" Winter asks, he eyes finally averting from the skyline.

"I don't know why we still have to do this," Tilly murmurs, brushing a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes. "Yeah, our ancestors messed up, but why do we have to pay for it?"

"Rebellions," Ruby says sagely.

"The Hunger Games," adds Winter, although I'm not sure she really knew what we were talking about.

As usual, I twist a hank of hair around my hand and don't say a word. Keeping mum is the thing I do best.

We stand there in silence for a while, just letting the setting of fog shroud us mystically, until Ruby clears her throat and declares that she was hungry.

"We should go to your dad's store, Annabell!" she says festively, hiking up her raggedy violet cloak from around her knees. It's way too large for her. "We could all get chocolate from there!" My heart thuds nervously. Tilly and I exchange a dubious look. She knows how terrible my father treats me.

"Maybe we could go to the Seam instead," she suggests.

Ruby purses her lips. "But at Annabell's we could all get stuff on discount. _Riiiight_, Annie Bell-Bell?"

I bite my thin lip nervously, eyes darting from the direction of the store to Ruby, her fire-red hair standing out wickedly in the fog.

"Why not another place for once?" Winter says airily. "Seems to me we always go to Anna's, no offense intended."

For once Winter was helpful. I felt like hugging her, but that's more of Ruby's thing. Instead I offered my widest grin. Tilly spoke up, agreeing with her, and I nodded enthusiastically to show my approval. With a terrific humph, Ruby consented, and she began striking down the road, her hair swaying to an imaginary beat. I smirk lightly, noting how her leadership abilities definitely outshine each of us. I'm going to miss her.

But as we approach my dad's shop, I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead and under my arms. Truth be told, I'm terrified of what my father will say if he sees me out and not working. We pass the store without another look back, but just when I'm relaxing, I hear a bark from behind me.

The four of us whirl around to face my father, who's red-faced and reeling with ferocity. "_Annabell_!" he roars. I freeze. "Weren't you working the store? You never asked for a day off, you _USELESS, FAILURE_ of a child!"

The insults are what stand out to me the most. I blink away brackish tears, allowing a large lump to slowly form inside my throat. I can't stand seeing my best friends watching me like this, although I am aware of Winter staring off over her shoulder.

My dad storms over and snatches my wrist, his fingernails digging into my flesh. I can only look back at my best friends in despair before the store door slams shut. I hear plaster tumbling down in the walls.

My dad's not in the right state of mind. He's not a drunkard or anything, even swore he'd never touch the "devil's liquor". But ever since my mother died…. I can't even think about what he did. The tears slip out of my clenched eyes and I brace myself for the harsh sting of his hand.

It comes down repeatedly, and I'm only glad that my canvas-like coat is there to protect me. It's _always_ protected me.

**Surtr Kayhiv, 13**

I see the familiar mop of copper hair and smirk to myself, changing my pace from a light job to an all-out sprint, darting between trees and buildings, all while keeping that image in my head.

She doesn't know I'm coming, _does_ she?

When I'm not two feet away from her, she turns but it's way too late. I'm already attaching myself to her back, clinging tight.

She cusses and rotates rapidly, trying to get a glimpse of who might be holding onto her. When she sees a lock of my black hair, she sighs exasperatedly, reaches her hands up to her shoulders, and digs those sharp, sharp nails into my hands.

I hop off quickly.

"Lumi!" I greet her warmly.

"Surtr." She spat.

Smirking lightly, I crack my knuckles, which I know is a pet peeve of hers. "Have you seen Hester, Szatania, and Aria yet today?"

"Hester," says Lumi, her beady eyes scowling at me. "She told me that Szatania was sick today."

"I wonder how the Reaping will get on without her," I deadpan, mirroring her glare.

"But no, I haven't seen your little _girlfriend_ today." Lumi stretches out the word, plastering a self-satisfied smirk on her face. "Maybe she's writing you a love letter?"

My heart freezes and my own devilish smile melts into a goopy, love-struck beam. "You really think so?"

Lumi laughs, her evil cackle breaking through my happiness. "I was joking, you idiot," she wheezes between harsh chuckles. "As if she'd ever write any person a love letter, much less _you_! Honestly, Surtr, you're so gullible sometimes I wonder why you haven't decided to put on some wax wings and fly to the sun."

The hearts that encircled my head immediately pop like soap bubbles, and my puffed-up chest deflates as I accept the idea. "You're right," I admit to the seventeen-year-old, ignoring her insults. "Aria's been hurt pretty bad."

Lumi rolls her eyes. "What else is new?" she sighs.

I shrug, glancing past her. "Weren't they supposed to meet us around here?" I question.

The redhead, still glaring, offers me a "who the hell cares anymore" and starts walking away. I follow at her heels, which to some degree annoys her.

"Aria's usually in the Seam," I ponder to myself aloud, "while Hester's most likely taking care of her sister, Szatania."

"Right on, bucko."

I stroke my chin playfully as we turn the corner, exiting the urban area where both Lumi and I live. The Seam is about half a mile ahead, just beyond the entrance to some old coal mine. I've always been curious about that mine, but have always been too chicken to explore, just like I've been too chicken to tell Aria how I feel about her. I heave a heavy sigh, knowing that I'll probably never gather enough courage to admit it to her.

"You sad, man?" Lumi asks sarcastically, throwing the pitch of her voice down low.

"Nah… lady," I retort, eyes boring into the back of her head, "I was just thinking."

"Penny for your thoughts." Lumi's voice drips venom, sounds threatening. I know, however, it's just the cold front that she puts up.

"Nothing."

We walk in silence until I see the market, and just inside of Mrs. Sae's soup kitchen is Aria, sipping thoughtfully, her light hair tied back into ringlets. My heart soars and I dash towards her, leaving Lumi in my wake.

"Ariaaaaa!" I sing out, flailing my arms and nodding at Mrs. Sae, who responds with a snaggle-toothed grin. "How's the lovely lady today?"

Aria looks at me with those huge baby blues of hers, swallowing a chunk of meat. "I'm doing fine," she says quietly. "What about you, Surtr?"

"Better than anything else!" I hop up on a stool and snatch up a bowl. "I feel so rejuvenated, so energized with the knowledge that I'm gonna get through today alive!"

"Something tells me Lumi didn't threaten you today?" Aria smiles slyly.

I watch as Mrs. Sae ladles in some brownish, gravy-like broth along with peas, chunks of some meat, and turnips into my dish. "Nah, she still did. You know our Lumi. But today's the Reaping, and I simply ADORE the Reapings."

"Why?" Lumi asks, all snarky. She stabs a turnip with the end of her spoon and plops it into my bowl.

Stirring around my own stew with vigor, I shrug. "The knowledge that a person you know potentially will be broadcasted all over Panem? It's like knowing a celebrity!"

"How flattering for the tribute," Aria states dryly. "I'm sure they're pleased as peaches to know that."

I chuckle lightly. "You're sooooo funny, Aria," I reply, attempting to gaze into her eyes, except she's turned her head to Mrs. Sae to ask for seconds. "Did you know that?"

"I've been called hilarious before," Aria sighs. "Isn't it wonderful to know somebody thinks you're funny?"

She's kidding, I know that much. I'm not that stupid. I nod a few times as I scoop up a spoonful of broth.

Lumi's finally caught up to us, her eyes narrowing as she sees my nearly-full bowl of soup. "You ordered breakfast?" she growls. "I didn't bring any coins or anything."

I snatch up Aria's empty bowl and ladle a generous amount into hers. "We can share," I say angelically, batting my eyelashes.

Lumi sighs brokenly. "Gee, thanks. What would we do without Surtr over here, hm, Ari?"

Aria smiles dryly and for once, peers into my eyes. "We'd shrivel up into dry corpses and perish painfully."

To that, I beam. _Isn't she the best?_

**Musica Swirlabout, 26, Escort to District Twelve**

Patting my golden hair down self-consciously, I peer out into the masses of kids. They're all bustling, bustling in complete and utter silence. Silence. I hate it.

I also hate the mentor for two of those kids. The mentor has been the same for years, as the first victor for Twelve died just three years after victory. Haymitch Abernathy, the local drunkard, is currently wobbling around on those spindly bird legs of his, sloshing his alcohol around in his cup. Revolting. I shudder and pull the white sleeves of my gown down further, just below my knuckles.

The first year of escorting is the hardest, I hear. Afterwards, it's all peaches and cream and hearts and rainbows. Wanda Klume, the escort for District One for the past five years, was probably the happiest person in all of Panem, despite her aging, until Rosary Haynes or something like that stepped in. Rosary is my _idol_. Someday, I'd love to be in her position, looking down at the newer and fresher escorts, teaching them sagely.

I'd just _adore_ it.

I'm nervous for this year, though. I've heard that the tributes for Twelve can be wild animals, their manners terrible and their eyes wide and feral. Once you pass District Ten, the kids get softer and gentler, except for the three Career districts, of course.

But I'm scared for my own sanity and safety both. Plus, what if I don't get promoted for a long time? That would be terrible. I'd be stranded on the District Twelve island without a lifeboat, the coal-caked kids pulling me back, their eyes gaunt and their ribs jutting out. Creepy. Very creepy.

I shudder again.

I remember what my escorting coach, Scotch from Five, told me previously. He said if all else fails, find some humor in the situation. Say a funny phrase such as "Time to Reap some kids" or "I wonder how these two will do in the deathmatch!" But honestly, I'm not all on the Capitol's side like he is. I'm worried for the sake of the tributes, innocent kids who were drawn in to play their silly game.

Of course, I don't– I _can't_– share my thoughts with anybody else. I'd be arrested, beaten, tortured even. If they knew that an escort was…..

No, I can't even bear to think of that.

An Avox taps me on the shoulder and gestures for me to go outside. I thank her with a hug, although her startled eyes tell me that probably wasn't the smartest idea. I exhale and step onto the stage, my pure glass slippers clicking nervously on the wooden stage.

I smile wanly and, without a word, grab a slip from the female's bowl.

"Tanika Sherman!"

A girl with coal black hair on the one of the older sectors storms up angrily, but before she can make it there's a flash and a gasp. A girl with a head of gorgeous, flowing hair has mounted the stage with a small smile. Is she insane?

I blink a few times as Tanika, stricken with shock, moves back to her spot. The girl holds up a small note and I read off her name.

"Annabell Berry, huh?" I take her in, this girl, and then my face splits for a toothy grin. "Wonderful! A volunteer!"

Annabell nods, her own smile fading quickly as she gazes, pale, over the sea of children.

Still overcome with joy of such a rare thing happening, I grab a male's slip of paper. The name's a mouthful, but I manage to announce—

"Surtr Kayhiv!"

There's a visible gasp from the boy in question, a smaller kid with somewhat greasy black hair that flows down to the nape of his neck, before he begins walking up, the corners of his mouth curving up in the most pleased way.

"Aren't you two a wonderful bunch," I say in awe as Surtr stands next to Annabell, still simpering festively.

"I should hope so," Surtr says honestly, his eyes huge. "I want my escort to be happy."

With the most positive feeling ever, I nod to the audience. "District Twelve, I give you Annabell Berry and Surtr Kayhiv!"

**A/N: Born this Way by Lady Gaga.**

**YES! YES! YEEEES! REAPINGS ARE DONE WITH! I'm sooooo happy…! xD I'm literally wheezing with happiness. Next SYOT, I'm kicking them all out in one chapter. I loathe Reapings. Everybody does. **

**Surtr and Annabell…. Interesting bunch, no? I love them both… But did you notice? Annabell didn't say anything…. O.**

**Mkay, prepare to answer a lot of questions here. :-)**

**QUESTIONS!**

**1. Which tribute stood out to you more and why?**

**2. (These last questions will be regarding every single one of the tributes.) Who were your top ten most favorite tributes?**

**3. Which ten tributes did you find most interesting?**

**4. Which five tributes did you dislike the most?**

**5. If you could use one word to describe each tribute, starting with Brucite and ending with Annabell, what would it be?**

**6. What were your thoughts on each tribute, in a couple sentences or more?**

**7. Which tributes has the best chance of winning, to you, and why?**


	14. Smile Like You Mean It

_**Dreams aren't what they used to be,**_

_**Some things slide by so carelessly.**_

**Alessandra Balis, District Three**

"You have the most gorgeous hair…"

I nod slowly, allowing my stylist, Precious, to weave her magenta-colored hands through my long blonde hair. "Most people in Three have jet black hair, greasy since they never think to groom themselves."

Precious wrinkles her nose. "How vile!"

I roll my eyes in silent agreement, already warming up to her. "Tell me about it. How can people live like that? It's like homing a nest of rodents in your hair!" I shudder with sudden chills. "It totally grosses me out."

Precious wraps a hank of hair around her hand, murmuring to herself, not listening to me anymore. I sigh. I didn't really want to leave District Three. Sure, it was a terrible place to reside, but the fact that I'm underaged, without hardly any training… It makes me ill. I can almost feel the cheese sandwich that I nibbled on upon the train rising up my throat.

Besides getting Reaped, I'm not a huge fan of my district partner. His name is Arthur– not too bad, it sounds somewhat like a knight or a prince– but he has this loopy, goofy grin and the most obnoxious voice ever. He sat down on the train, then jumped back up, howling that "My butt's on fire, my butt's on fire!" Apparently, the kid had never tried out a seat warmer.

And right after we got off the train, I was plucked and pruned until my skin felt like fire. Every bit of hair was ripped off, even parts of my light eyebrows. They massaged my shoulders with this freezing turquoise-colored gel, and that alone was enough to dampen my mood.

Precious isn't so bad, though– she's to some extent, like me. She has an air of glory about her, and she's confident as well. If only she hadn't that wretched pink skin and golden hair. Disgusting, if you ask me.

Precious rolls up the sleeve of my fluffy grey robe, examining my arms. "They took out your arm hair, eh?" she mutters gruffly.

"It hurt like mad."

Precious nods slowly, turning my arm over gently. "At least it's not skeletal. That being said, we can squeeze you into a strapless dress."

My cheeks flush. "What do you mean, 'squeeze me into' it?"

"I didn't mean anything by that," says Precious coolly, eyes still locked on my forearm. "But the dress itself doesn't move much."

"Can I see it at least?"

Precious exhales, peering up at me. "Of course you'll get to see it, Alessandra. Just not at the moment. I'm preparing you."

"No more gels or tonics or lotions or anything like that, right?" I begin gnawing on the inside of my lip nervously.

Precious smirks, the tips of her blackened lips curving up sadistically. "Nothing like that, that's your prep team's worry. I only deal with the material parts, not the physical body itself."

"Good." I start to relax. Precious peeks at my other arm, nodding in approval whilst I stand silently, blinking and breathing very slowly.

Eventually she's done examining me and tells me to stay in the room while she fetches my dress. I obey like she says, simply picking at an exposed wound that my prep team rubbed some gritty stuff in. She returns with a large black bag not two minutes later.

"Is that my outfit for the chariots?"

"Ding, ding, ding," Precious nods in that devil-may-care way she seems so capable of. "You've guessed it, little lady."

I stand up from the cushy chair, smiling sweetly like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, watching while Precious unwraps the costume from the thin plastic. When it's revealed, I can't help but feel a bit let down.

"Do you love it, or do you _love_ it?" Precious shakes the hanger it dangles from, making the fringed wires tinkle dramatically. "My fellow stylist, March, and I designed it ourselves."

It's a dress covered completely in wires- thick grey wire, skinny yellow wire, braided red and white wires, plastic-covered wires, wires tangled in a river-like pattern, wires threaded carefully to form a sash, everything. Every wire you could think of. But somehow, it falls a bit short of my expectations and I pout.

"It's fine," I say dismissively. "Not the best I expected from some Capitol stylists, but it'll do."

Precious snorts. "Like you could do much better."

I smirk_. Just you wait and see what I can do, Precious…_

**Alister Rain, District Five**

I finger the metallic material nervously, trying not to be weighed down by the satellite dish that beams out small yellow lights here and there. I'm sure I look ridiculous, although Lux isn't to be overlooked. The only real difference in our outfits is that she's in a short dress, whilst I have on trousers and some silver sweater.

Kassidy and Tuesday lead my district partner and I to the chariot, although Tuesday is a lot less snarky about it, whilst her fellow mentor, the crazy redhead who's my mentor, is angrily jabbering on about how_ every stinking year the tributes are stupid, idiotic satellite dishes and yammer, yammer, yammer, they should at least take a peek inside District Five to see blah, blah, blah, idiots, idiots, Alister are you listening._ Wait, what?

"I wasn't listening," I answer truthfully.

Kassidy sighs, smoothing down her black fishnet-like shirt with her excessively long nails.

"Have you considered hacking your nails off?" I ask her curiously.

Kassidy scowls. "I knew I should have taken the girl and let Tuesday have you."

At the mention of her name, the old woman perks up, her soft brown eyes flickering over to me. "Lux is doing fine," she croaks out, pushing a lock of greying brown hair past her ear. "I enjoying this girl." Lux beams.

"Thanks to you, Tuesday, I'm going to enjoy every moment of this experience right up till the arena."

"Suck-up," I tease.

Lux's eyes flash, and she sticks her tongue out at me childishly. I shake my head. Silly girl, she's never going to get very far with that attitude. I can already see I'm not going to like her much.

Kassidy jabs a curved nail to the flashing silver chariot, which looms ominously ahead of me. It appears larger in person than on the television screen. "Hurry up, before you make a scene, Alister."

I hop up, ignoring her words, and from my new stance, I survey the other tributes. The kids from Seven look terrified– well, the girl does. The boy is absent-mindedly picking his nose, and I wrinkle my own nose in disgust. No potential allies yet.

The Careers, as I've learned they're called, look less threatening than I thought. The three girls are huddled together, although the dark-haired one from Two appears more isolated. The sandy-haired man from One is admiring his muscles, whilst Two is staring off into space, his hand jammed into his trouser pockets. I think he's supposed to be some wounded soldier, as his bloody silver helmet implies. Four shows nothing, just a devilishly smirking boy and the girl who's chatting it up with One.

As Lux tries to climb up next to me, I watch the girl from Eight, with her clenched jaw and heavy makeup. She's similar to me, watching every tribute in sight silently from her chariot. Her gaze is fixated on Six, though, as the raven-haired female is seething at her partner, shouting and shrieking with obvious relish.

"_Allies?!"_ she screams. "You seriously think I'm going to join up with you, you little punk?!"

I cringe and turn to Lux. "Isn't she attractive," I say sarcastically.

Lux stops pulling at her flowing silver skirt for a moment and peers from under her wide-brimmed hat. "Huh?"

"The girl from Six, the insane-ish one."

Lux cracks a smile as she watches the fuzzy-haired kid shrink under the towering, shouting girl. "That chick's crazy."

"I heard that she volunteered."

"Tuesday told me that already, from just the Reaping bets, she's already a favorite." Lux tugs at a free-flowing lock of brunette hair. "Sort of… odd, don't you think?"

"She's scary."

"Yeah," Lux agrees. "I really wouldn't want to run into her in the arena."

My heart thuds dully against my chest. I guess I'm not really thinking that the people in this room are potential victims of mine, or if all goes terribly wrong, one of them will be my murderer. I turn away from Lux so she can't see the hardness that my eyes have taken on. I find myself nearly face-to-face with the boy from Three, who's leaning over in his chariot so far I'm surprised he hasn't fallen off.

He giggles madly, leaning back into his chariot. "Hi."

"Um, hello," I say, somewhat annoyed.

"I'm Arthur." The boy immediately stops laughing and offers me a hand, his face completely stock-straight. "District Three."

I look at his hand for a minute before shaking it lightly. "Um, I'm Alister. District Five, I guess."

Arthur beams. "That's so cool."

At first, I'm about to cuss at him, but there's something about him that makes what he just said very, very genuine. On anybody else, it would sound snarky and mocking, but on this dude, it's like… a compliment. And for some reason, I'm drawn into that. I offer him a slight half-smile.

"So, are you looking forward to chariots?" Arthur chatters on, leaning on his elbow along the side of the chariot.

"Not really," I admit.

"_Same_," Arthur keeps grinning. "I'm terrified that my nutjob of a district partner will try to knock me off or something. She seems like the quiet, possessed type."

I laugh partly for Arthur's sake, and partly because his partner, Alexandria or something like that, really is one of those types. "I know what you mean." I jerk my finger to Lux, who's examining her silver fingernails. "Girls, am I right?"

"What's up with yours?" Arthur begins, but is interrupted by a voice overhead that announces that all tributes are to grab onto the handlebar and prepare to be lined up. The black horses leading my chariot begin trotting off, and I swiftly manage to wave to Arthur before his own chariot marches in front of Four.

I grin at Lux, who rolls her eyes. "Ready, Luxandra?"

"It's _Lux_…"

**Constance von Trapp, District One**

So we're angels. Me, I'm not too upset about this, as I believe I look rather spectacular in wings and the cropped clothing they gave me, but Brucite here is a different story.

"This is so _stupid_," he grumbles, tugging at one of his feathery grey wings. "Why can't we just be kings and queens like all the other years?"

"We're luxury," I remind him. "Angels represent a life of luxury, naturally."

Bruce, as I've decided to call him, simply glares and self-consciously touches his caramel-colored Mohawk. "I don't care. Kings and queens represent that as well."

Rolling my eyes, I decide not to make small talk with the guy anymore. Too much of a bore for me. Coral's better, all nice and innocent-like, while Serafina's the frigging ice princess. She thinks she's _so_ much better than the rest of us, with her little snowflake token, which she has to show off every second, twirling it and watching bits of light reflect off of it. Annoying.

Then there's Slate, who I actually like. He seems sort of sage and wise, slightly like Trancer minus the blazing red hair and joking personality. Percy's OK, just a bit obnoxious.

The doors in front of us open and our chariot pulls out with a jerk. We're first, so I'm slightly nervous, but I don't show it in any way. Instead, I place a bright smile on my face and play up the dangerous, striking girl from One. I know that the crowds will love it, and they do. I can hear from their screams.

_Brucite! Constance! Connie! Brucite! Constance!_

I peek out of the corner of my eye at my wonderful district partner, who's currently baring his teeth at the crowds, making a show of ripping off his wispy charcoal-colored shirt to expose a pair of abs. I smirk lightly, remembering how Tempera and Trancer made a big deal out of my own only this morning.

"You seem happy," I murmur to him, not expecting him to hear me.

"I am happy," he replies, shocking me. "I'm getting to play a game in front of the people who will one day adore me as their victor. What else is better than being adored?"

"I can think of a lot of things," I sigh loftily, still waving slowly to the shrieking audiences.

"Oh? Like what?" Brucite growls, and even without looking, I know that he's baring his teeth to everyone.

"Like honor and glory. There's a lot more wealth in those, a lot more richness, than simply being as low as to want to be adored."

Bruce turns to me completely, the look on his face conflicted. "I'm not low," he says hollowly, and for a moment I feel guilty, like he's a little boy and I've offended him by taking away his toy or something. But then I remembered he _wanted_ to do this. He _volunteered_, for heaven's sake, knowing the risks and stakes, and he's offended when I suggest he's low for wanting adoration?

Like most of the people here so far, I just don't get him. But for now, I guess I'm alright with that. I have slightly less than a week, even more in the arena. So I don't need to know everything about the kid right now… right?

I smooth down my cropped shirt and quickly glance behind me. Our wonderful District Two is clad in army uniforms that are spattered with blood, which I don't really get. Their claim to fame is masonry, so the logical thing should probably be… gladiators or something. I don't really know.

Behind them is Three, where both of their skinny mini tributes are wrapped in different colored wires. The girl looks positively ticked off, while the boy's hamming it up, waving and shouting to everybody joyously. Behind them is our other alliance district, where Coral and Percy are both dressed in clothing made of shells and scales and such, to represent mermaids or something. Coral has this fugly little gown with fins at the end. Putrid.

She catches my eye and smirks at me, raising her eyebrows to indicate she's not too crazy about this. I roll my eyes sarcastically and flip my hair, turning back to the front.

When President Snow begins his little speech, I'll make sure to catch his eye, hook him, and reel him in.

Heck, I could have been from District Four.

**Cohush Nigrum, District Nine**

"_This is overwhelming_," I shout to Alexis over the deafening roar of the crowd. She can only nod in response, obviously uncomfortable.

Our costumes are clothing woven out of wheat or some crappy substitute. To be perfectly honest, it's not any fiber I recognize. But then again, I'm always in the infirmary working, and since Alexis here has never had to move a pinkie in her life thanks to her rich parents, I can't exactly ask her.

I wasn't exactly pleased when it came time for me to be Reaped. I never expected it, and I can only imagine how many people will die without me once I die. That's right, I've accepted death. It's inevitable for me in a game with eighteen-year-olds who have trained since they could walk, throwing spears and swinging hammers. And for me, a thirteen-year-old who's never left the world of medicine? …Yeah, not exactly victor material.

And yet I wave, smiling ever-so-slightly at all the bright flashes than consume me, that overwhelm me. Alexis is frowning a lot, her plump lips curved into a pout. She's not even trying, which I really don't get. She should be happy for herself. She actually has a chance, unlike half of the tributes here. For instance, Seven, with their leafy outfits shaped like weeping willow trees. They're both young, fragile, and probably easy to break. Bloodbaths for sure. Same with Eleven– two young kids, their costumes terrible (sunhats and overalls, by the way), their expressions grim.

And District Eight– I've kept my ear to the ground and I know that President Snow is hating on Camo. I don't know why, it was just a snippet of a conversation I heard Venial, my mentor, engaging in.

The chariots part in a slight semicircle, and I'm thrown close to the Seven chariot. The boy, his freckles the most striking part about him, looks utterly bored while the girl, her eyes round with fright, is visibly trembling.

I don't listen to President Snow much. He's a fat, white-haired man with greedy plans to take over Panem, just like the last ruler, I've heard. Wonderful. Alexis, however, hangs onto every word, her angelic blue eyes stretched out to watch him. Great job, Alexis, you little suck-up.

The boy from Seven is chewing a small wedge of gum, much like Camo from Eight except he's doing it much more obnoxiously, cracking it and popping the bubbles with ease. I want to hush him, but I know that I'd most likely get punished. So I keep mum and instead fixate my eyes on my glimmering golden suit.

All of a sudden, just as Snow finishes up his little speech, something wet hits my cheek and I gasp, turning to the District Seven chariot. The kid's in hysterics, while his partner, the straggly-looking girl, is in complete shock. She hisses something to him but he simply blows her a raspberry and continues his laughter. Fumbling, I snatch the gum from my cheek angrily and cast it to the floor of the chariot.

Once it begins to move again, Alexis turns to me. "What happened?"

"Creep from Seven shot his bubblegum at me," I snap, scrubbing at my cheek furiously. Who knows how many germs and bacteria he harbored in his mouth, in his very saliva?

"That's revolting!" Alexis cries.

"You feel my pain, I see," I growl, shuddering. "He's completely gross."

We stay in silence until the horses canter into the building. I hop off and immediately search for the little scrub that threw his gum, complete with germs and all, at me.

It takes a while to find Seven. I see the rest of the costumes while I search: I see the girl from Twelve, whose blond hair is up in a high ponytail, her dress a jet black and visibly powdered down in a steampunky sort of way. A fashionable miner? District Ten boy is in a cowboy suit, and he looks none too happy about it. He keeps tugging at the spurs on his leather boots disagreeably. The two from Six are squabbling, the girl snarling an answer while the trembling, frizzy-haired boy meekly puts out a question. They're in pinstripes, dressed like train conductors.

Then I see a glimpse of Seven.

I would never have spotted him if it weren't for that terrible, tall leaf costume. He is madly trying to fit through the doors of the elevator, but the branches extended too high. Eventually his mentor, a devilish looking woman with jet black hair, helps him inside with his district partner and the duo from Five. I hop inside just before the doors closed.

Seven looks pretty terrified of me, now that I was up close and obviously much taller. Glaring at him, ignoring everything else that was going on around us, I snap at him, "Why'd you do that? What did you do that for?"

"Do what for?" he asks smoothly, his forehead creased in nervousness.

I roll my eyes. "You know what. You spat your gum out at me during President Snow's speech!"

"You did?" screeches his mentor, her mascaraed eyes wide. She turns to Seven and _cheers_, saying, "Ben, I think you're one of my favorite little people right now."

I catch a glimpse of the forgotten district partner huddled in a corner, clutching onto the hem of the brunette girl from Five's dress. She's my age, although she appears much smaller.

"Hey, you," I say rudely, pushing away Five without another glance, "We should be allies."

The girl's expression is completely fearful. "Um, I don't know," she whispers, her eyes brimming over in tears.

I fold my arms and sneak a peek at Ben, who shows absolutely no remorse. The whole point of this was to get his a little jealous, show that he didn't affect me one bit. Or… or something like that. I'm not really sure. My mindset isn't the best right now.

"What's your name?" I ask her.

"L-L-Leaf," she stutters out.

"I'm Cohush Nigrum from District Nine." I don't offer my hand or anything, simply slide next to her as the pair from Five walk out of the elevator. "Maybe tomorrow you'll make your decision?"

"_Smooth_, Hushpuppy!" Ben barks at me, and his mentor smirks the tiniest bit.

Ignoring him completely, even giving him the hand, I smile at the trembling girl. "I'm sure we'd make a powerful alliance, just us two!" I chirp, waving as she walks out.

I'm not sure how I did. I've always been terrible with my people skills, never caring for anybody more than my patients. But I suppose that Leaf may have attracted my attention, looking like nothing more than a fragile, broken child. Maybe I didn't really want to be allies, just get to know her a little better.

I don't _know_. After all, I've only had imaginary friends.

**Leaf Ender, District Seven**

"I'm sure we'd make a powerful alliance, just us two!" Cohush warbles as I scamper out of the elevator, my heart pounding out of my chest.

Truth is, the boy scares me. His bushy hair made me apprehensive, and once he began talking to me like he knew me since forever…. That was the last straw, I officially was terrified of him. I'd like to say he's insane or something, but I don't want to be rude. I don't even want to _talk_ about him to Blight. The entire thing makes me uncomfortable.

"Looks like little Leaf is scaaaared!" Ben crows, his voice echoing throughout the expansive living room.

"I'm not scared!" I retort hotly, my face blushing red from embarrassment. "I just wanted to come out and get some food."

I see the kind face of Blight, who told me just before chariots that he wasn't feeling so well and had to grab some pill from up here. Blight's the only one I like here. Our escort, Magenta, is both hot-headed and snotty, Johanna only likes Ben and she's terrifying, Ben himself is a manipulative brat, and all the other tributes appear looming, threatening.

"Blight," I say, grasping his hand and shaking it. He reminds me somewhat of Ivy, both making me feel welcome and homely. "Chariots were terrible!"

"I saw them on television," he replies gently, pointing to the wide screen that lies in front of all the couches and chairs, "I think you did splendid. What was the matter?"

Warming up immediately, I say, "Can I tell you over dinner? I'm starving."

"Of course."

The meal for tonight is a widespread buffet. There's deep-fried vegetables, crispy and golden on the outside but gooshy and savory on the inside, seafoods drenched in dressings, different salads, tons of creamy, chunky soups, sweet bits of some red fruit, many spareribs, and besides all the other food, there's lots and lots of loaves of bread, each loaf representing a district. I recognize one immediately, a white bread coated with ground almonds. Feeling homesick, I reach for a slice.

Ben's already piled his plate high with meats, some red in color, some blackened, some brown, some glazed. He barks at an Avox to fetch him a glass of milk, and I frown slightly at his manners, as does Magenta.

"You really shouldn't shout at them, Ben," she advises.

"I don't care," Ben retorts, his mouth stuffed full of chicken, "seeing as they're just our slaves. We can do whatever with them."

Blight gives him a stern look, and Johanna rolls her eyes. She's already bored with his façade, maybe even wishing she had chosen me instead of bold little Ben.

I butter up the piece of bread and Blight, swallowing some vegetables, asks quietly, "So why didn't you like chariots, Leaf?"

I snuck a look at Ben before sighing. "First off, when President Snow was making this long and boring speech, Ben spat his gum at Cohush from District Nine. So that alone was real uncomfortable."

Blight nods slowly. "Go on."

I spear some deep-fried green beans, playing with them around my plate. "Then in the elevators, Cohush confronted Ben and was all, 'Ooh, you spit your gum at me and I'm sooooo offended, ooh'." Blight chuckles, and I'm encouraged a little. I continue, "So then Ben ignores him, and Cohush the Crazy turns to me and goes, 'Ooh, little girl, let's be ALLIES!'"

Blight's face is split with a grin. "What did you say?"

My eyes widen emphatically as I jab the fork in the air with emphasis. "I didn't say nothing, just stared at him. He was crazy."

Blight nods, sipping something from a darkened flask. "Anyways, onto chariots. How do you think you did?"

I shrug, staring down at the table dejectedly. "I was too scared to do anything but stand there," I murmur. "All the lights and shrieking people were freaky."

"I remember how scared I was, too," Blight says kindly.

Johanna, who must have been eavesdropping from her end of the table, snorts loudly. "Blight was a sight to see," she tells me wickedly. "Cowering like a scared little boy."

"Fifteen's not that young," Blight defends himself.

"How'd you see his Games?" I ask Johanna, brow creasing. "You weren't even born when he won."

"Videos, dear Leaf," sighs Johanna. "If you want, I'll lend you some of my Games. I was great, if I say so m'self. I played up a scared little midget, when in reality I snapped one kid's neck off. Killing machine."

"I want to see that," Ben says greedily.

I wrinkle my nose at him, suddenly feeling a bit queasy. "I… I think I'm done with dinner."

Nobody comes after me when I run to my room, not even Blight.

**Francis Theroux, District Six**

The first morning of training is insane, much like my district partner. There's tons of running around on Dalton and Gingham's part, some shrieking and cursing on Jinx's part, and a lot of frantic, nervous nail-biting on my part.

First off, I would have been perfectly happy simply to stay at my home, working on another painting, unlike Jinx, who for some reason volunteered. I miss my brushes. I miss my canvases. I even miss my parents and their clients. Instead, my paints will be replaced with blood and my brushes with weapons; tridents, knives, and spears.

I would have been happy at home, even if my mother treated me more of a possession like she usually did. I sigh heavily, pushing away a cranberry muffin sadly.

"Aren't you hungry?" Dalton asks me with wide eyes. Although there's a ten-something-or-another age gap between us, I feel like he could be a younger brother to me.

"Not especially," I mumble. "I tend to have a lump in my throat whenever I get uncomfortable, and thus making it hard to swallow anything but water."

Dalton looks genuinely confused and Gingham, seeing an opportunity to open up to the vicious Jinx, asks her tribute a question.

"So, I've seen your chariots… what did you think of the stylists and the train ride?"

Jinx looks at her sullenly, her black hair hanging over her face like some bridal veil. "Well," she begins in a low, dark voice, "after they scrubbed my skin off enough to bring tears to my eyes, they tried to cut off my nails."

Jinx holds up a hand, which is embellished with several cuts and scratches, but the remarkable thing is her long, long, black nails, each which have a point on the end. I widen my eyes.

"They never got to that," Jinx smirks, digging her nails into her scone. She stares at it, watching the jelly ooze out from inside it, before announcing loudly, "I'm gonna go train."

And like that, she's stepped into the elevator and descends smoothly, a clean getaway.

I blink stupidly.

"Would you like to go down, too, Francis?" Dalton asks excitedly. "Oh, it was so fun! You get to throw around little twig things at fake people and slash open their fake people skin with knives!"

I furrow my brows. "I don't think I'll be doing much of that," I bleat out. "More like…. Well, I don't even know what stations they have, really…"

I'm so nervous about the whole thing I stay up in the living room for another good hour, and once I go down, I'm extremely late.

Atala, the trainer, as Gingham and Dalton told me, has retreated somewhere, leaving me to wonder if we really can touch all this stuff. There's impressive silver swords with hilts of bejeweled marble, truly a spectacle to see. And yet the brutish boy from One is simply shoving them on the ground once he's finished with them. I frown slightly, my feet softly padding over to another station distractedly.

There I see it– past all the melee weapons, past all the far-ranged weapons, there it is. My station. The camouflage station.

I begin running over there, but I'm easily winded and have to slow down to a brisk walk after only a couple seconds. It takes me a long time simply to reach there and I run into Jinx on the way (heavy sigh). She snarls out a "Hello, crazy," to me, but all I can respond is, "You think I'm crazy? I can't argue with you." but it's well worth it once I finally get there. It hasn't even been visited yet, and the trainer, a wiry man, looks pleased to see me.

"Do I just pick up the paint and use it?" I ask him quietly. He nods, bringing up a couple more trays of colors.

My eyes go wide at the sight, and instantly I know where I'll be spending most of my day.

First I swirl my fingers around in the colors, transforming soft blue into an evergreen hue. Red becomes orange, then a camel-colored tone. With glee I dart over to the fire-making section and snatch up a sturdy stick, then tie some pine needles to it for a paintbrush.

Happily I paint myself into a field of daisies, practicing first on my ankle, then the other one. My wrists turn into smooth grey stone, dabbled with moss and tiny bits of shale. My forearms will become the bark of a pine tree, and with relish I even add a bit of real wood to embellish it.

The trainer watches me silently, obviously impressed. His face is a mask of sheer delight, and after I transform my shins into dying yellow grass, he tells me I'm doing a stupendous job.

"Thanks," I murmur shyly, my cheeks flushing red. Although I did hundreds of paintings and I knew that somewhere, there, was a bit of talent, I never did get to hear the words '_Good job'_.

**Annabell Berry, District Twelve**

I throw the machete down in exasperation, plucking a few damp strands of hair from my head. Why is this so hard? All you have to do is slash across the dummy and _voila_, you've got it. I see the Careers doing it with ease, most of them in a tight little pack near the axes.

With the exception of two.

There's Braid Girl, as I've dubbed the girl from Two, as her hair was in braids both yesterday and today. She's with Mr. District Four, and they're quietly talking whilst they swing maces. Braids is terrible at it; Four's not that shabby. At least he hits the target whenever he swings, unlike her.

I slump down near the display and sigh heavily, my eyes squinting under the harsh light on the ceiling. Why is this so _hard_? Why did I volunteer? I could have stayed home and simply watched the Games like every other year…

Suddenly the lights that beam down on me stop, and I look up with a fluttering in my heart.

"Why ya just sitting here?"

It's the girl from Eight… Willa, I think her name is. Her blond hair is in braids, too, but on her they're somehow more flattering and girlish.

I shrug, hopping to my feet jitterishly.

"Can you talk? Are you mute?"

I shake my head, eyes on the ground.

"Then say something."

I open my mouth, but my voice is rusty after not having used it for so long. I cough a few times, swallow, and then…. "I have _nothing_ to say."

Willa smirks, shaking her head. "Come on. Everybody has something to say, District Twelve. Or… what's your name… the cow name? Jezebel? Annabeth?"

"Annabell," I croak out, hands to my throat.

"Annabell, right," Willa nods in sudden recognition. "I knew it was one of those. So hard to remember names when there's twenty-three other ones to know, plus the prep team and your stylist, escort, mentor, President Snow…"

I realize she's kidding and force a feeble laugh, but after giggling silently for so long it just feels wrong. I regret speaking to her. I should have simply stared at her stonily.

"So, yeah, I know it's probably wayyyy to early for allies…" My heart flutters again, and I look up into those twinkling blue eyes. "…but since I really don't wanna be alone, whatcha say we train together, swing some maces around and show the effing Careers who's really boss around here?"

I nod emphatically, sweat pricking at my palms.

"But first…" Willa looks at me heavily, heaving a sigh. "I'd sort of like to know why you volunteered?"

My gaze goes back to the ground sadly. Nobody will understand why I did it. Their lives are all sunshine, rainbows, and ponies.

"C'mon…." Willa prods cheerily. "I heard you talk before, ya can do it again…"

I shake my head, placing my head in my hands. "S-S-Sorry."

Willa sighs lightly before linking arms with me. "Whatever you say, we're gonna show 'em who's boss, like I said!"

I force a grin, but it quickly diminishes as we come right next to Braids and District Four. Little Miss District Two merely glances over and continues swinging her mace, whilst Four smiles toothily at us and actually _speaks_.

"You two lovely ladies need a lesson in maces?"

Willa grins right back, although her smile is much more venom-packed. "We'd adore one!" she chirps festively. "That would be just peachy!"

Four glances over to me, watching me shrink into Willa's shadows. "Your little friend want a session too, or is she just here to watch?"

Willa turns back to me. I stare urgently at her, silently telling her that I really don't want to talk to the imposing Career. With a flash of golden blond hair, she's turned her head back to Four and trilled, "Well, of course she would! Annabell loves lessons, don't ya?" I'm relieved when she doesn't expect an answer.

The Career prods his friend from Two on the shoulder. "Fina, want to help me out here?"

The girl's icy eyes scan over us, her gaze shocking. "No, thank you," she tells her ally coolly, "I'd actually rather like to see you attempt being a teacher more. And please Percy, don't call me Fina. My name is Serafina."

District Four raises his eyebrows. "Fine. Ready, outlier ladies?"

I am not too keen on the idea of being called "outlier ladies" but I nod anyways, as did Willa. Percy, as his name apparently was, launches into this discussion about how to hold a mace correctly. He's about to teach us how to swing it when there came heavy footsteps behind us.

I whirl around to come face-to-face with the soft eyes of District Two. The boy from One isn't far behind, his scowl overpowering any sign of gentleness on his face.

"Percy," District Two speaks in a subdued tone. "Coral says she wants to speak with you."

Percy avoids eye contact with us, simply marches past to the station where the rest of the Careers are at. After a moment, Serafina follows suit.

"Guess the moment is over," Willa sighs.

**Percy Brizo, District Four**

Ignoring the two outlier girls, I stroll past them with only one thought on my mind. What could Coral possibly want?

Slate and Bruce lead me to the archery section, where Constance is proving herself worthy of a bow and arrow whilst Coral's missing every time. I hear footsteps padding behind me and glance back to see Serafina, her stony eyes glaring at the other two girls.

"Coral?" I ask loudly, causing her to turn to me. "What did you need?"

Coral's eyes flicker to the rest of our alliance before she walks over to me, casting the weapon to the ground. "I need to talk to you in private," she murmurs, her sea green eyes widening.

I trail behind her as she leads me to the axe section, where only a couple other tributes are swinging the weapons. She motions for me to sit on the ground, which I slowly comply to.

"What did you need?" I repeat.

Coral reaches up just above her eyebrow and slowly rubs the faint trace of a scar. "I think I found your weapon of choice," she says softly.

"What?"

"You know how you told me you hated using tridents?"

"What, are you making me use hooks?" I say sarcastically.

Coral shakes her head, rubbing the scar quicker and quicker. "No, no, nothing like that, Percy. Instead I think you should try archery."

"Why?" my eyebrows furrow, truly confused. "How do you know for sure that I won't completely suck at it?"

Coral's gaze wanders off to something behind me, and she begins smiling at something. "Well," she begins slowly, "you told me yourself that your aim was impeccable, correct?"

"Um, yeah, I guess."

"And you also told me you weren't very strong."

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I told our mentors that!"

"Right," Coral giggles, finally removing her hand from the scar, "but it was sort of loud. I overheard you, Percy."

I frown slightly, motioning for the girl to continue. "Mmkay…"

Coral cracks her knuckles and squirms, obviously wishing she hadn't brought this up. "I don't know, a bow is sort of light, and the arrows don't require much to carry them, just a sheath or a pocket. So… you could use a bow and arrow instead of a sword or something like you're expected to. Shock them all." She keeps looking behind me at something, and it's getting annoying. I want eye contact.

I glare. "Right, Coral, and what will your weapon of choice be?"

Coral reddens, her cheeks now matching my own. "I'm going to use a trident."

I breathe in, pointing to her. "Right-o. Shocking them all, I see."

Coral snaps like a thin wire. "Well, at least I'm competent with a trident!" she growls. "I'm not _wavering_ like somebody here!"

I know I've struck a nerve with her. I roll onto my back, close my eyes. "Coral…" I begin slowly. "I'm sorry, man—"

But when I open my eyes, my district partner's already storming off, heading to the knife station, away from our alliance.

Right as I begin to get up, there's a muffled scuffling noise from behind me and I see the midget girl from Seven, her face masked by her thin brunette locks. She was hiding behind a dummy, watching us the entire time. Usually I'd simply ignore her, but since I'm in a wretched mood I snarl out, "Scram, brat."

The girl fearfully complies, and I press a hand to my temple, upset. What did I just _do_?

I stride back to the throwing knife station where my alliance has moved. As soon as I arrive and curl my fingers around some knives, I notice that Serafina watches me like some lost puppy, Constance is pathetically attempting to aim for the chest of one dummy in particular, and Brucite and Slate are just standing in a corner, gossiping like some little kids. My alliance isn't really the friendliest.

Coral was the one person I truly trusted within this union, and seeing as she now loathes me, I'm the sore thumb of the Career pack. No one else has made a move to befriend me in any way, and Serafina's not friendly, she's just annoying. She acts all icy, but I think she secretly likes me or something. The girl won't stop following me.

But a friend is a friend is a friend. Even if that friend is irritating and stalkerish, I might as well try to form a bond with _somebody_.

**Savanna Poppet, District Ten**

I'm so freaked out right now, it's not even funny. Ever since my wonderful, _dear_ escort hollered out my name, I've been so paranoid. _I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadiiiiiiiiie_. It's so… ironic.

"I'm following in his footsteps," I murmur quietly to myself. "This is like a dream gone horridly wrong."

My hands wrap around the machete tightly. I know I'm not going to fare very well with weapons at all. Most are too heavy and clunky, whilst the rest are… they're just stupid. For instance, a wire garrote, which Nubu seems to favor. How are you going to wrap that around somebody's neck without getting a finger sliced off? Or poisons, which I've had no luck with at all. Sure, the idea of it is nice. But how will you use it? Throw a pot of poison at somebody? Dunk your weapon in some?

I'm also not too crazy on the idea of survival methods. I mean, some arenas have been buildings such as funky-colored cities and ships. You can't exactly use tree bark to cure an infection _there_.

Another tribute comes near me and immediately I'm on my best behavior, murmuring witty things and grinning a lot. Alliances are my best bet, especially since I can't handle weapons at all and Nubu's a bit too secretive for my tastes.

It's the blond, skeletal girl from District Eight. Willow or Willa, her name is. She seems like she'd make a splendid ally, especially since she even looks the part. She's not ugly or anything, a bonus.

"Machetes suck," she says to me, and I agree immediately. But then I realize she's speaking to the girl from Twelve, who's like a ghost in her shadows. Are they allies already?

"Are you looking for an alliance?" Willow/Willa asks me curiously, her blue eyes twinkling.

"I'm not too sure," I say immediately, my heart thundering. "I mean. I suck at weapons and my district partner's really crazy, I mean, like, super insane. He's so secretive and stuff like that, heh. I don't fare too well with people like that. What do you think?"

I've chattered too much, and the girl openly acknowledges this. The repulsed look on her face tells me that yes, I've been an idiot.

"Well, I hope you and your district partner come to terms," she mutters, turning away. "C'mon, Annabell, let's go try some spears."

My hopes have sunk. If the friendly, cheery girl rejects me then I must be such an outcast, nobody else will want me. I fiddle around with the split ends of my chestnut hair for a bit, simply thinking to myself. Then there's a movement from behind me, and not a very pleasant one.

"Move, you old nincompoop," spits Ben from Seven, his face a mixture of disgust and pure hatred. "I wanna try throwing an axe."

I feel so weak I don't even try to respond. I move to the side and watch him toss the machete feebly, clattering on the ground a good five feet from the dummy. Angry, he turns on his heel and darts to the next station. Not even a minute in and that kid has given up. What a chump.

"You wanna try again, girl?" the trainer asks me, but I shake my head. Maybe I'll fare better trying something not weaponry not survival.

I find the camouflage section, where there's only Francis from Six. Once he sees me, he quickly throws his brush to the ground and darts to the fire-making section. I sigh heavily and trudge up to the counter.

"Paint, please?"

He hands me a tin tray consisting of bright colors, ones that probably would never be found in nature ordinarily. I smile softly, fakely, and plop down on the ground, absentmindedly swirling the red and the green together with my fingers.

I wonder what Holly and Reno are doing right now, if they're mourning or what. I bet my uncle has considered himself a failure. Maybe my mother's forgotten to feed the cattle in her grief, or my father is pacing around the room sadly. Maybe my friends are all gathered together, crying, just waiting for a sign. Maybe that wretched girl who was once Elijah's girlfriend is sullenly staring out into space, a shell of the person she once was.

I begin spattering the paint on my wrists, pleased to see that I've made a sort of dark sepia color. It looks a bit like mud, but to mimic real mud I'd need twigs, little pine needles.

I smile to myself, biting my lip to fight the positive waves. I'm finally getting something that I could potentially be good at.

**Slate Bessarion, District Two**

The bell clangs metallically, and I automatically turn my head. The first day of training is over. Fun, I suppose. And to be perfectly honest, it has been fun. I've really been bonding with Brucite, whilst the pair from Four I'm not too crazy about. Serafina and Constance (Connie, I tease her) are all gung ho and that. Percy and Coral are sort of… like siblings. One moment they're squabbling, the next they're working together all happy.

I toss my rapier onto the counter without a backwards look. I didn't get to run the gauntlet today, which was one of my main goals, but I suppose that a full day tomorrow will provide the time needed.

I step into the elevator, gnawing on my toothpick boredly. There's a bunch of other tributes in the elevator, although I don't know many of their names. There's Constance, who was the first to rush into the elevator, then the pair from Twelve– he of the greasy hair and she of the no-talking – the tall, silent, feral-looking girl from Six, the groomed blondie from Three, and the boy from Eight, who's snapping a gum bubble boredly, much like I am.

Constance leaves first with a flirty little wave, and I'm next to get off. I don't look back at the other tributes, but I can tell that they must be jealous of the way I swagger off with such confidence. I smirk inwardly, but maintain the same austere expression on my mug.

Enobaria and Brutus are the first faces I see. Each of them are chattering away as they watch something on television, plucking small sausages from the bluish plate between them. They haven't realized I'm back.

"Hello," I announce, bursting between them and snatching up the sausage plate. "I see you've made me supper. How _nice_ of you."

Enobaria giggles tipsily, which alerts me that she might not be in the most stable state of mind. The champagne glass on the table also clues me in to this. "Oh, Sage, you're so funny."

"Enobaria, my name is Slate," I prod. "You've gotten that wrong since I've been here."

"Give 'er a break, Slate," Brutus burps. "It's hard remembering two tributes' names every year. Last year it was, erm, Thalia and… and… Clementine, I think. Not too easy to slip off the tongue, eh, Enobaria?"

Enobaria throws back her head, letting out a wide-mouthed cackle. I get a good glimpse of her golden fangs before she settles down.

Serafina's suddenly next to me. She slipped in so silently I didn't realize it until she tried and grabbed a sausage off of the plate.

"Do you mind?"

"Sorry," she stares at me with her creepy blue eyes that seem to be watching me over all the time. "Training makes a girl hungry, don't it?"

"I wouldn't know," I reply smoothly, unruffled. "I'm not a female."

Serafina locks eyes with me for a moment before shaking her head, popping the sausage into her mouth. It annoys me how aloof she is, but I suppose since I myself was raised around the arrogant, I shouldn't be so… so _judgmental_.

Serafina reaches into her slim navy jumpsuit and pulls out her token– a snowflake on a chain. Her eyes sparkle with delight as she watches the light glare off of the spokes, the snowflake itself twirling and swirling about to create a frosty illusion.

Not to be outdone, I snatch up my own token. It's an arrowhead necklace, one that's been in my family for many generations. An heirloom, I suppose you'd call it. It has three words inscribed on the back in another language, but I only know two. I rub my thumb over the jagged edges, marveling in its stony splendor.

I don't realize that Serafina's watching me until I feel her cold breath against my exposed neck. I jerk away.

"Can I see that for a moment, please?" she says it like she's doing me a favor.

"I'd rather not," I reply, my voice cracking a little. "Maybe I could see that little snowflake of yours?"

Serafina clutches her token tightly to her chest. "N-never," she stutters, her eyes huge and watery. I, for one, am stunned at her sudden change of character and can only watch her retreating figure dash into the kitchen, slamming the heavy frosted glass door behind her.

I turn to Brutus and Enobaria. "What do you think that was about?"

"Scared girl," Brutus spits. "Probably one of those people who will turn on ya. Watch out for the girl, Slate."

I waver for a moment, smiling uncertainly, before I murmur, "But I do trust her. She's my district partner."

They don't hear me, and I don't really care.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

I smooth down the front of my mustard yellow jumpsuit, waiting patiently as the two from Four exit silently. They're the only other two in the elevator besides Annabell and me. We all were the last ones; Annabell and I since we had just started shooting arrows, and the two from Four because honestly, those two have their own little problems.

"Excited for tomorrow?" I ask Annabell cheerily. She shrugs.

"I'm sure I can find myself a good ally or four," I kid, looking for her reaction. She smiles wanly, teetering on the balls of her feet as she looks down. "Oh, which reminds me. I don't think it's too early now to start looking for an alliance. How 'bout it?"

The girl from Twelve looks so delighted that I hug her. "Is that a yes?" She nods eagerly, her wild blond hair lightly clapping along her face. "Great!" I sing out, dancing around the vacated elevator. "We should form a pack and everything, and you can be my co-leader!" Annabell keeps grinning, the positive vibes simply _radiating_ off of the girl.

"I've been eyeing up the boy from Five, or his district partner. What about you?"

"Ten," she says softly, her voice hoarse and croaking.

"The girl or boy? Girl?" She shakes her head. "Nubu, I think the boy's name is. I think he'd be a trustworthy ally. Good job, you picked an awesome one!" Annabell beams. "We just have to get him to join. If we get both from Five and him, we'll have a nice round number of five in our alliance, and we could easily rival the Careers," I muse out loud.

The elevator dings and I stride out confidently, waving bye-bye to my newfound ally. I can't wipe the beam off of my face, and I don't want to. I mean, this is excellent. Annabell's totally trustworthy, and even though she's next-to-mute, she has some of the best ideas ever. Nubu Chandlers? Seriously? I hadn't even considered him. But now that I think about it, I do remember him being decent with a garrotte, and his accuracy with a throwing knife wasn't too shabby, either.

My mentor, Woof, is chewing on some peas when I enter the kitchen. "Anything to eat or do we just snatch somethin' out of the fridge?"

"There be d-d-dinner coming s-s-soon," Woof stutters slowly. "I have work attend to, I eat early."

I scowl. "You're my mentor," I say accusingly. "Aren't you supposed to give me advice whilst we eat or something? You did this morning, didn't you?"

Camo enters the kitchen, his hulking form quiet. "Should I leave or…" he mumbles, blowing a thick pink gum bubble.

"No," I say, grabbing his shoulders and plopping him down in a suede chair. "You can join in the conversation, Mr. Mysterious. Woof here thinks he can escape me to go do some 'work'."

Camo stares at me with those entrancing brown eyes of his. "And why is that a problem, Willa?"

I stamp my foot, which results in an echoing 'clack' all around the kitchen. "Woof here is my mentor!" I screech. "He could be my difference between life or death!"

Camo's mentor, a soft-spoken woman named Celia or Cecelia or something like that, enters the room quietly. "Woof has surgery scheduled tonight," she tells me quietly. "He needs to go in in about a half-hour."

Feeling ridiculous, I squeeze my cheeks between my palms to try and hide the redness that creeps up in a fierce blush. "Oh, well…"

"It's an open-heart transplant," Cecelia says even more quietly. "His heart's been failing him."

I stare at her incredulously. "Are you serious," I mutter to myself, storming out of the room.

"Couldn't he have had surgery when he was mentoring another tribute?"

**Bark Umbral, District Eleven**

I force a smile as the Avox sets down a plate of golden-glazed duck in front of me, the bill still intact. "This smells delightful," I begin.

Nessa, who sits next to me, her body rigid, agrees quickly. "Better than groosling any old day, hm?" she says with a laugh so forced it's unbelievable.

I look to my mentor for consent. "Can we dig in? Training made me hungry."

"You may."

Eagerly, licking my chops with relish, I begin slicing off a thick slice of duck that makes my very mouth water. The combination of garlic, honey glaze, and savory met invades my senses. My stomach growls angrily, reminding me that it wants to eat now.

Then I catch a glimpse of Nessa, beside me. Her brown eyes are gaunt, searching the table piled with various foods. "I can't even believe this," she murmurs to herself. "All this food…"

I definitely agree. Back in Eleven, if you had gotten a roast, glazed duck with all the fixings you must have been a traveler. Not even the mayor feasted on such wonderful, exotic foods.

I begin scooping some reddish gelatin-like food onto my plate, which is crowded with small berries. "This must be sooooo delicious," I whisper happily, my eyes tearing up. In a way, this was a blessing, getting to try all this delicious cuisine. I never ever would have gotten this option back in Eleven. I would have been lucky to find one of these berries on the ground, mushed by Quill's shoe.

Nessa still hasn't touched anything. Her hands are folded, her eyes taking everything in. I jab her with the hilt of my spoon. "Are you not hungry?"

"Oh, I am," Nessa nods rapidly, her corkscrews bouncing, "but I just want to make everything last. There is so many things here and if I tried them all, I'd simply pop!"

I nod in agreement. "Then just take what I'm getting," I offer, "and later, if we're hungry, we can fix ourselves up a midnight feast."

A ghost of a smile crosses Nessa's chin and she nods slowly again. "I'm thinking of maybe the mushroom soup." She lightly touches a silver pot with her fork. "But the raspberry soup looks amazing, too." She clinks her silverware against a pot filled with frothy rose-colored soup, dotted with the berries in question.

"Take them both," I advise. "You've got all night to wolf them down."

Nessa smiles, for real this time. "Thanks for the advice, Bark." She gently begins ladling the pinkish soup into a white bowl, making sure no drops hit the table.

I watch her carefully, bringing the roast duck up to my lips in silence. Nessa seems extremely nice. I wonder if I should offer her an alliance? Or would that just bring pain…

"Nessa, do you want to be my ally?" The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, but right after they come out, Nessa's turned to me, her brown eyes alert and wide.

"I'd love to, Bark," she says softly.

I turn back to my food dumbly, wondering why my mouth betrayed me like that. I can't go back to the girl and simply say, "My offer's been revoked." That would be a punch in the gut to her. No, I need to make myself as unappealing as possible to try and get _her_ to revoke it. The only reason she said yes was probably since I was so sweet.

I lean over my plate and drool duck sauce down onto it, therefore disgusting myself more than anybody else. Disgust claws blindly at my insides, and I wipe my mouth and the plate with a napkin, my stomach turning. Nessa didn't see it at all.

Oh, well. Maybe having an ally _is_ all it's cracked up to be.

**A/N: Smile Like You Mean It by the Killers.**

**HOOO boy. Twelve POV's and ten thousand words later. How'd you all like this? :D And if you thought I was cruel with those questions… WAIT TILL YOU SEE THESE.**

**QUESTION TIME! ^o^**

**1. What were your thoughts on EACH POV?**

**2. Which POV did you like best and why?**

**3. Which POV did you like least and why?**

**4. On a love/like/neutral/no/hate scale, what do you rate these tributes?**

***example on the above* (DOES NOT REPRESENT MY VIEWS):**

**Love: Percy, Cohush, Leaf**

**Like: Bark, Alessandra, Annabell**

**Neutral: Slate, Constance, Aister**

**No: Francis, Willa**

**Hate: Savanna**

**5. Which tributes are you looking forward to reading?**


	15. Red Lips

_**Your number is up if you like it or not**_

_**Take a walk**_

**Camo Russo, District Eight**

"So, Cam-Cam!"

I scowl at Willa, who's beaming through a mouthful of scrambled eggs and orange juice. Disgusting. "Who do you have picked out for a potential ally?"

"Nobody," I say gruffly. "I've decided to be a lone wolf."

Willa appears stricken, swallowing the eggs harshly. "You're going to be _alone_?" she gasps dramatically. "What the heck did Cecelia tell you?"

I raise my eyebrows, lifting my coffee mug to my lips. "She told me that she was alone as well, so it's perfectly jolly if I decided to go the same way. It's my decision, you know."

"Well, yeah," Willa murmurs, still at a loss for words. After a moment, she looks up and stares at me with those piercing cobalt eyes. "I'm not really one to beat around the bush, Camo. Will you be my ally?"

I cringe, dragging my knife across a piece of pinkish ham. "Willa," I mutter. "I already said—"

"But," Willa interrupts, "you are a strong person, Cam-Cam. If you'd only be my ally, we could do great things together, even the final eight!"

I really like Willa, I do. But she's overly nice to me, as in sugary artificial sweet. That, and I really don't want anybody else to suffer the wrath at the Gamemaker's hands like I'm going to have to. Sure, I want to make it out, but let's face reality. They want me dead. It's inevitable. This year, there are only twenty-three plausible contenders, since Camo Russo is officially out. But I can't tell Willa that at all.

"Camo? Will you join my alliance? There's a really trustworthy person, Annabell. She's sweet and quiet and—"

I push my chair away from the table, totally not hungry. "See you at training, Willa," I mutter, getting up and striding to the elevator.

I expected to be the first one down, but already there's the pair from One and the male from Two. Representing District One, the girl's silky blond hair in a high ponytail, the top of her jumpsuit peeled down to reveal a tight black tank top. She's trying her hand at rondels, which I've noticed she seems to excel at it. The boy, Brucite or some idiotic name such as that, is waiting impatiently at the bottom of the gauntlet, but enthusiastically cheering on Two, who seems like a flying squirrel. He's whizzing through the swinging hammers with ease.

I pop a hard circle of gum into my mouth, pressing it to the roof of my mouth before chewing slowly. Capitol gum isn't the best, but it's better than no gum at all. I blow a bubble quietly.

I didn't do anything last time, and I don't intend on trying anything this time. I might as well conserve my energy for the Games, when I'll certainly be dodging lightning strikes and earthquakes left and right.

I blow a small bubble, allowing it to pop once it's just extended out of my lips. Gum has made me feel safe, especially bubble gum. Working at a small, soft wedge always has been relaxing for me.

Slowly, more and more tributes begin to pile in. Willa is one of the first, her blond hair up in a messy bun. She catches my eye and winks, her smile expanding. Chuckling softly, I shake my head and gaze sadly at the ground. That girl really doesn't know when to give up, does she.

After only a half hour, a trainer approaches me, his eyebrows furrowed together. "Kid…" he begins. "you have to be working at a station. It's the rule."

I smirk, popping a bubble. "What if I don't?"

The trainer runs a hand through his course black hair. "Kid, don't argue," he mutters. "Don't question the authority."

"The authority hasn't been the nicest to me."

"That's none of my worry."

"Well, apparently I'm at least _some_ of your worry if you come up to me and order me around."

The man scowls. "Look, I don't mind if you at least try to look like you're doing something. It's all that matters."

"Fine," I snap, storming to the nearest station– the axe station– and snatching up a weapon. I fling it at a dummy, landing it a good seven feet away. I turn back to the man, expecting him to growl or scold me, but instead he's gone back to his knot-tying station.

I sigh heavily and eyeball the spot where I previously was sitting, feeling a bit of conflicting emotions. I'd like to watch everybody like I previously was, but I must admit, I felt a surge of energy when I tossed that axe. It might have just been adrenaline, but it was thrilling whatever it was. Felt like it was made for me, if that makes any sense whatsoever.

I battle an impending smile as I reach for the handle of another.

**Brucite Gergeon, District One**

I nod to Slate as he trots down the stairs of the gauntlet, small beads of sweat dousing his thin training jumpsuit, which is colored navy. He wishes me good luck, but I brush him off.

I never needed encouragement; stuff like self-confidence has always come easy to me.

I nod to the trainer, ignoring Slate's smirk and watchful eyes. When the lights ping on, I leap forwards, ducking under a thick rubber paddle that immediately comes swinging towards my head. Adrenaline courses through my veins heavily, causing me to nearly avoid a swinging silver mallet that comes crashing down. Feeling jittery, I surge forward just as another rubber paddle comes down and smacks me in the abdomen, causing me to stumble off the narrow beam and wham into the ground.

Slate comes rushing over, his eyes full of worry. "Dude, are you alright?"

I glare through thick eyebrows. "Does it look like I'm doing fine?" I wheeze.

He offers a hand and I ignore it, hopping to my feet myself, wincing when I put support on my right leg. "God, my leg hurts," I mumble through gritted teeth, rubbing my hand over the general thigh area.

"D'you need something? I could call for a medic."

"Slate, I'm _fine_," I emphasize, hobbling over to a near chair and plopping down. "Just go off to Percy or something. I just need a little rest and I'll be OK."

Slate looks doubtful, but he follows my command anyways with a small nod.

Finally alone, I peel away the bottom of my blood red jumpsuit up to my knee, groaning as I stare at the bruise that's begun to form, matching the thick lines that have formed under my eyes. I sigh heavily, drumming my fingers on the thin purplish skin.

More and more tributes have started to file in, and most of them are milling about, testing out new weapons and such. It's the final day of training and I'm sure that most of them are skittish little kids. They certainly look it. For instance, the little children from District Eleven (the only reason I can tell is because they have darker skin than most others) are currently at the plants station, the girl silently watching the boy identify different leafy plants. To me, they all look the same.

"Oh, _Bruuuucey_! Care to join us at the maces?"

Only one person would be idiotic enough to call me that, and only one person would know that I'd never hurt them for calling me that, unlike most others who I would definitely hurt. _Constance von Trapp_. Sure, I knew that her flirtiness was simply a shield; her heart belonged to her mentor.

Last night as I strolled to the fridge to snatch up a late night snack, I found the two shamelessly curled up on the L-shaped couch, Constance giggling and Gloss blabbering unintelligibly. Shocked me so much that I forgot all about the snack and simply dashed back to the room like my heels were on fire. I mean, it's _weird_, you know? Gloss is in his late twenties and Connie's younger than me, I think. I've never had much experience in the romantic field, after all. All my crushes have always been and always will be flings.

But if I win? I'll have power and adoration, something that I've always craved. Women are drawn to fame, money, and power like simple moths to a dim light. I'll have that; they'll be mine forever.

**Arthur Augustus, District Three**

My eyes scan the area for Alister, ignoring Alessandra completely. She can broil to death for all I care. She's been nothing but a bully to me, putting me down and calling me insults I've never heard so far. Truthfully, she's making me feel really sad. In short, she's not my favorite person.

I find him studying a book interestedly, his eyes flickering over one page in particular. My heart high in my throat, pumping with cheer. I march over to him, noticing that he keeps murmuring 'Anything for Talon, anything for Talon'. I mentally make a note to ask him about this mysterious Talon. I brush it off for now, though, and slam my hand down on the table. When he looks up I smile goofily. "Hi."

"Arthur!" he greets me warmly, his eyebrows flying up. "Where'd ya go, man? I was looking for you last night."

I roll my eyes, sidling into the chair next to him. "My _wonderful_ district partner had a hissy fit. She said that Beetee and Wiress would be none too happy if I were late to the supper table, Phosphate the escort even less so."

Alister nods. "Understandable." His words flow slowly, like sticky maple syrup. "Lux… she, well… you see…. She's not… erm…. My biggest… what's the word… not my biggest fan… you know? I think that in the arena, if I were hurt, she'd do a dance or something, or cheer, even. If I died I bet she'd throw a party."

"You're not close?" I fake shock. "_Realllly_. My, a district partner turning on another. What happened to loyalty?" I beam happily, showing him that I'm trying to be sarcastic. Alister nods, smirking.

"So." He casts the book aside, and I fetch a glimpse of some purplish plant etched onto the yellowing page before the cover snaps shut. "We gonna throw some spears or something? Be all aggressive? Last day of training, you know."

"How about daggers?" I noticed the trusty little weapons last night before we left, but Alessandra made it impossible for me to test one out. "They look handy."

Alister complies quickly, and together we march off to the station.

The first thing I notice is that there are people here. There's the blond girl from Eight and her ally, the quiet, smiling girl from Twelve or something like that. Then there's Nubu Chandlers from Ten—I only remember him because Alessandra made a big deal out of how he held the elevator doors open for us.

"So you gonna join us or what?" Eight asks Nubu, her face a mask of disinterest and eagerness all at once. "We'd love it, you know, Annabell and I."

Nubu glances back at Alister and me, his face stony. "I'm not too sure," he mutters, itching his ear. "No offense or anything…"

I beam cheerfully at Nubu. "I'd take the offer!" I chirp out helpfully. "It's bound to turn out to be a wonderful experience, Nubu!"

He scowls, crossing his arms and fidgeting. "Aren't you being the helpful one," he murmurs, bending his knees slightly, the crinkles in his light grey jumpsuit folding up. "It would be helpful if you stayed mum, District Three."

"My name's Arthur," I remind him helpfully and patiently, still smiling. _Always_ smiling.

"Good to know," Nubu says, locking eyes with me. I don't make any move to break the gaze, and neither does he. He unfolds his arms, still staring stonily into my eyes, and moves closer silently. I feel the tension building up, but I'm too nervous to look away or do anything else. Alister, Annabell, and Eight must be staring at this weird connection, wondering.

Nubu suddenly does a funny little hop forward, landing on his tiptoes so he's nearly eye-to-eye with me, and growls out, "You'd better sleep with one eye open."

His threat doesn't go unnoticed. Immediately Alister begins complaining, saying, "Why should you go around blackmailing people when the real Games don't begin for two more days? Save that attitude for the arena, dude."

Nubu glares at Alister for a split second before turning back to Eight and Annabell. "An alliance sounds _lovely_," he emphasizes, thrusting a dagger into the chest of the nearest dummy. "I can't wait to see who else you're planning on getting in. It'll be like a tight little ring of BESTIES!"

I blink, flushed. I turn to Alister, whispering, "D'ya think he's really looking forward to it?"

Alister shrugs, smiling broadly.

**Alexis Tress, District Nine**

I'm testing out morningstars when the idiot in the station next to me begins wailing.

It began as something like a low hum, sort of like what a bumblebee would sound like. It got louder and louder until it was somewhat like the buzz of wheat-splitting machines back in Nine. And now? It's very annoying, it's turned to flat-out chanting. And _nobody_ is doing _anything_ to stop him.

It's Francis, Francis from Six if I'm correct. The frizzy-haired kid with the freaky, scary district partner.

I peek over a table crowded with the morningstars to see him on the ground, writhing like some possessed snake. His arms are flailing about, splashing paints from the camouflage area everywhere. The boy's making a huge mess and not even the trainer is glancing over at him.

He grows quiet for a moment, drawing his limbs in close, looking like a small, flesh-colored egg. Then all of a sudden with a wild shriek he bursts from his circular form, eyes wide open and locked on nothing in particular, and he darts towards the sword section, still crying out in a not so fierce battle cry.

This, now, has snagged some people's attention. They're glancing over, eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion. The girl next to me, a gorgeous blondie, is even giggling lightly, her hand clamped over her pillowy lips.

"You find this funny?" I snap at her grouchily.

She stares dead-on into my eyes, her smirk fading rapidly. "Yes," she speaks slowly. "Yes, I do."

I scowl blackly, feeling my firm grasp of my calmness disappearing. "It's obvious that he doesn't have a good mindset," I say, my voice trembling. "_Nice_ people don't find that funny!"

"I never said I was nice," the girl replies evenly.

I try to prevent myself from gaping at her, but my constricting insides make it very difficult. I've never been good at hiding my emotions, and the tears from my efforts are already beginning to leak out. The blond girl notices this and smirks. "Do you have to cry?" she taunts me. "It's okay, I won't tell a soul that little bitty Baby had to cry."

My entire body begins quivering, and I reach up to snag the end of my ponytail on my fingertips. My ponytail is my prized possession, and it's the only thing that really keeps me strong. Knowing that despite whatever changes are going to be made, my ponytail will still stay rooted to my head, jouncing in tune with my own body.

"You're not being anything like the Reaping painted you to be." In reality, I don't remember anything about her, what district she's from nor her name. I do recall her partner, though, the goofy one with the soft smile. Arthur, his name is.

The blond snorts, running her fingers through her own silky tresses. "Uhm, sweetheart. That is the magic of _editing_. I'm sure that the babies from Eleven were each sobbing their little heads off, but they don't want to show that at all."

"I really don't like you," I try the phrase out to myself, and when I hear it rolling off my tongue, I straighten my spine. I stare her in the eye truthfully. "I'm leaving now, because I really don't like you. Deal?"

The girl furrows her eyebrows. "You could have left five minutes ago, then," she responds evenly.

Without another word, trembling, I run past the squirming, screaming boy to the climbing wall, where I immediately ask a trainer to hook me up. All I want to do is clear my head, and the wall seems as good a place as any. Plus, if I make it to the top the girl might see, and if she sees she might get jealous, and wouldn't _that_ be satisfying.

The harness is tight around my waist, and, staring at the impending wall, I start having second thoughts. Clouds of panic surround my coherent thoughts until there's one phrase in my head:_ Show them all what you can do._

It's like all the fury, all the rage of the past years has caught up to me. My mother telling me to stay mum whilst the guests mingle. My father shrinking under her gaze as he tries to slip me a croissant for supper. Mother turning away my friends since she thinks they're too boisterous for her work. Them eventually turning on me because of her. Eating lunch at school alone, a lump knotted in my throat.

_Show them all._

**Jinx Tesatsu, District Six**

"Jinx?"

I ignore Francis with a huff, turning my back on him as the tributes file into the canteen. Most are silent, their faces set grimly. Some are with their allies, their expressions slightly more uplifted and cheerful. A select few are snarling at other tributes, baring their teeth and glaring at each other, namely the brunette chick from Ten. I like her. Maybe I'd spare her in the arena.

A tap on my shoulder sounds hollow, and groaning, I turn around. "Francis, you idiot, just leave me alone–"

It's not the frizzy-haired kid. Instead I see the bright beam of some blond girl, who I recognize to be District Eight. Blinking, I fold my arms and stare at her stonily. Why exactly did she approach me…?

"Hi," she says, all chipper and jolly. "I'm Willa. I was wondering if you were looking for allies?"

I raise a thick eyebrow, not once removing my gaze or blinking. "Uhm."

"You can decline if wanted, "she chirps, throwing her arm around a rather startled looking blond and a quiet kid. "These are who we'd all be with— Nubu from District Ten, and my best friend Anna. She's a District Twelve-er herself."

I bite the inside of my lip, considering this. "Why do you want me to join?" I sound the words out ve-e-e-ery carefully.

Willa shrugs, her eyes sparkling over with charisma. "You seemed… open to allies. Besides," she prods my shoulder with her finger, "you're all alone. Figured you'd want somebody, right?"

I sigh heavily. "Why not," I mutter.

Willa shrieks with joy and Annabell stares at me gloomily. Her expression tells me that she was roped into this, too. Nubu, however, is grinning toothily and somewhat… mysteriously.

"What are you smiling about, punk?"

Nubu's smile doesn't break as his eyes flicker over to me. "You'll see," he says eerily. "Maybe your hair will catch on fire… That would be nice… You'd lose your wits."

I furrow my eyebrows in complete confusion. "Excuse me?" I bark out. I honestly have no idea what this kid is talking about.

He's still grinning loopily, his eyes hazed over and staring at nothing. "You'd be pretty with your hair on fire…" he mutters, moving his hand through the air stupidly. "Flames… flames… flames crawling up by your ears… a haircut from hell, ha ha…"

I glare darkly at him, then avert my eyes to the uneasily-smiling Willa. "Has he gone mad?" I spit out, nostrils flared in a temper. "Why did you draw him into the alliance?"

"Nubu seems pretty sane to me," Willa retorts with a troubled grin. "Or he did, anyways."

I roll my eyes apathetically. "Let me know if you'd like to invite anybody else to join us," I deadpan, my words dripping venom.

"Will do," she replies agreeably. "I'm just going to try and make this a really big, happy family… or group…. Alliance… maybe even a tribe? Whatever we are, I'm going to declare myself as leader and try to make this the best it can possibly be!"

I nod slowly. "Good for you."

Without another word, I stomp ahead in line, push past the sniveling littler tributes, snatch up a thin tray, and march through line, jabbing a finger at the food items I want. A beef sandwich spilling over with tomatoes, a bloodred orange, and some limp flaxen-colored, crimped potato sticks.

I'm the first one out so I get first choice at benches. I'm rather happy with this and select the best one, the bench by the window.

Suddenly I hear the groan of the wooden bench next to me and I whirl around, utterly confused. There's Annabell, solemnly picking at her fruit.

"Why are you all sitting here?" I demand angrily.

Willa's eyes grow wide and innocent. "Well, we're your allies, of course!" she plucks an invisible hair off of the sleeve of her mustard yellow jumpsuit. "Allies should stick together. Am I right, Nubu?"

The boy looks up, his face conflicted and somewhat haunted. "Of course," he echoes her in a tinny voice, smirking at me. "We're allies, Jinx. Have to stick together…"

I furrow my eyebrows once more, my stomach churning like fresh butter. If it comes down to just this alliance, I'm going to personally torture the freaky boy. Personally? He's even scaring _me_, and that would be very difficult to say of a regular person.

Maybe I'll knock him off early… just because I can.

**Coral Fisher, District Four**

Once we've all sat down, Constance looks around the group with a knowing, warm smile implanted on her face. "I'd like to ask something of you all."

"What?" splutters Percy, tiny bits of roast pork cannonballing past his parted lips. _My, isn't that attractive…_

"I'd like to be your leader."

"What," Serafina speaks quickly, her eyebrows drawn together in sheer confusion. "You as the Career leader?"

"Yes, you could put it as that," Constance nods, still simpering in self-confidence. She turns to Slate and Brucite. "D'you two have any objections?"

"I'd like to elect myself?" Slate says it as a question. "I think I'd be a fairly responsible leader… don't you, Serafina?"

She coyly offers a miniscule smile and goes back to averting her eyes into her salad, staring at the cheese crumbles and tiny tomatoes.

Slate sighs. "Coral?"

"M-Me?" Slate hasn't talked to me, ever. This is the first I've heard from the District Two guy, and I'm not sure I like where this is going. Is he simply using me? I frown, shaking my head, causing my ringlets to slap lightly against my cheeks. "Uhm, I vote for Constance?"

"See, Slate?" Constance smiles smugly. "Everybody thinks that I should be leader."

"Hey, hey, hey," Slate objects, his eyebrows drawn thickly over his eyes, "you asked the opinions of two people, me and Coral. That's it. What 'bout Percy, Fina, or Bruce?"

"Brucite's made his decision," Constance defends herself quickly. I stifle a laugh as the boy in question blanches, raising an eyebrow as if to signify that he disagrees. Constance may be nice, but she's _too_ overconfident.

"Yeah, what about me?" Percy swallows a chunk of pork, staring fiercely at Constance. "I vote Slate."

"Career politics?" I mutter to myself, staring into my watery bluish soup that's dotted with fresh mint sprigs. When Constance is in the center of attention, I'm the odd loner who simply wavers in her shadow. I wish I could have a slice of her confidence, honestly, just a bit.

Percy's heard me and he offers me a cheeky grin. But I turn away, flickering my eyes to Slate and Constance. I'm still not over the fact that Percy doubts me. It makes a girl so self-conscious of herself, and although I'd never say it aloud, Percy's the worst district partner a girl could have. Honestly, I'd rather have arrogant Brucite.

"_No_," Slate hollers at Constance, slamming his hand down on the table. "Just because it's undecided does NOT mean that you can claim the leader position for yourself!"

"Who said I can't?" Constance challenges, a wild flush heating up her cheeks.

"Crazy kids, am I right?" Percy chuckles, trying to get a rise out of me. I turn the corners of my mouth up sarcastically, widening my eyes in irritation.

"Sure."

"Heyyy, the girl speaks!"

I go back to ignoring him, drawing my turquoise-colored jumpsuit hood over my forehead, tugging tightly at the drawstrings so only my eyes peek out. Percy instantly wriggles his fingers under the fabric, his warm hand meeting my icy cold forehead. Although it's a welcome change, I push him away instantly, turning away and slamming my eyes shut.

"Coral…" the hurt is obvious in his voice as he turns away, eyes swimming with silent tears. I immediately feel reproach, reaching out my hand to his hunched shoulders just as Constance begins shrieking wildly.

"_Slate_!" she screams. "It's a _done deal_, you _idiot_! Just stop it, already!"

Slate angrily brushes a lock of sleek, jet-black hair from over his eyes, struggling hard to remain calm. His lip quivers in silent frustration. "Constance," he says, his voice packed with emotion. "All I'm suggesting is a democracy, not a dictatorship. If everybody's a leader, nobody gets hurt."

Constance is tomato red, her blond hair prominent over her forehead. With a flip of her tresses, she announces rather loudly, "Coral, who do you vote for?"

My eyes dart between haggard Slate and angry Constance. "Uhm, Constance?" I mean, girl power.

"Brucite, what about you?"

"Have to go with Slate, man," he says, winking at the black-haired guy, who gives his a relieved smile back.

"Percy?" Constance seethes, clenching her teeth.

Percy's eyes flicker back and forth before landing on me just for a brief second. They instantly dart back to Constance, as he slowly says, "I vote for you."

"Serafina?" Constance seems a lot more relieved, the tone evident in her voice. "It's all up to you."

With an odd expression planted on her mug, Serafina smugly says, "I cast my vote for my district partner, leaving you both tied. I guess that it's really a democracy now, mm?"

Somehow it doesn't feel like it.

**Surttr Kayhiv, District Twelve**

Glancing furtively around the canteen, allowing myself a sip of pumpkin-y soup, I watch in quiet acknowledgement that there's few hours left to train. If I want allies, I'd better act quickly.

The boys from Three and Five, Arthur and Alister, seem exceedingly nice. But they're older than me, and though almost all of my friends are seventeen-year-olds or older, I'm not sure that these two will be as accepting. My own district partner flourished, snatching up three allies before lunch even began, and she's basically a mute. Nubu from Ten was a very probable ally, but now he's gone as well. I really don't want to be seen as a tagalong.

Some tributes, like Brucite and Constance from District One, have already scarfed down lunch and gone. Others, such as the large group consisting of Jinx, Willa, Annabell, and Nubu have gone off for seconds, and most of the rest besides the Eleven kids are sitting in silence. It's killing me. I _need_ an ally.

My eyes find Alexis, Alexis Tress. The girl, with her chubby cheeks and quiet smile, seems like a trustworthy ally. Perhaps I'll get the type of pal in her that I have in Aria, or Lumi even. I abandon the dish of soup and trot up to her bench, ignoring the girl from Ten that also sits there.

"Hey," I squeak out cheerfully, locking eyes with her. She looks rather startled, yet I press on. "My name's Surtr, and I'm from District Twelve. Would you like to be my ally?"

Alexis twirls a small lock of platinum hair around her fingertips. "Sort of sudden," she mutters, staring at her shepherd's pie.

"Well, yes," I grin wider. "But I was thinking, before training ended, that now would be a great time to get somebody!"

Alexis finally makes eye contact, but she's giving me the hairy eyeball. "Um, sorry?" she scrunches her face so it looks like a withered prune. "I'm not looking for allies at the moment."

I beam toothily. "Of course you're not!" I sing out. "You're not looking for allies because I already found you! Man, Alexis, you're funny."

Alexis looks suddenly interested, a smirk finding its way onto her thin lips. "Well, when you put it that way," she drawls. "How can I say no?"

The girl from Ten sighs huffily, but I shake my head as if to rid her from my mind and widen my eyes, staring at my newfound ally. "Now that we're certified best friends–" I wink, "Shouldn't we get to know each other a bit better? Like…. What's your favorite color?"

Alexis's expression looks confused again. "Uh, why does it matter?"

"Oh, it doesn't!" I rush to make her feel comfortable with a toothy smile, reassuring her. "I just thought that, well, maybe we could get to know each other a bit better… you know?"

"Sure," Alexis nods, sending her blond locks askew. "Well, I guess we can get to know each other better, as allies. I like pink, I guess, like a rosey pink… what about you?"

"Orange!" I reply cheerfully. "Who are your friends?"

At this question, Alexis's face falls and she turns away, nibbling furiously on the end of her ponytail. A lump arises in my throat, a familiar one of loneliness. I blink quickly, rushing to try and tell her that she's not alone, but before I can do anything she's muttered "I have to go, Surtr" and has gone.

I watch her retreating form as she walks away slowly. I shake my head sadly, sighing softly. I suppose that some people just flat-out don't like you, and Alexis must have been one of them. People have been mean to me over the years, and my abusive uncle didn't help the fact that I was overly peppy.

But now… I rest my chin on my hand, teetering. Now it's like… Well… Life as I know it has lost its sweetness.

**Ben McMhon, District Seven**

Twirling the spear on my fingertips, I glide it forward with ease, right smack into the chest of the dummy. Hah. As if. In reality, It was me that was fumbling around, attempting to snatch onto the hilt whilst the other half curved downwards. Angrily I thrust it to the ground, spitting as I went off.

So far, I've done nothing good at all. I'm so terrified that when I finally get into the arena, everybody else will grab up their perfected weapon of choice and there I'll be, with a stick or something, trying pathetically to defend myself. Branches aren't the best for weaponry, _obviously_.

Maybe I should just stick with what I know? Hatchets and axes represent my district. Even though I had little contact with them back in District Seven, I watched Jessie and Leo handle them with ease. I should be able to pick one up pretty easily and swing it or something, shouldn't I?

I trot over to the station, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, and snatch one up, a smirk already playing on my lips. The cold wooden handle already reminds me of home. Wonderful!

"Excuse me?" I ask quietly to the trainer, but he either ignores me or doesn't hear me. Annoyed, I toss the axe aside and, with a gigantic leap, hop onto his back, piggyback style. In surprise, the man lets out a very loud "OI!" and twirls around pathetically, attempting to waiver me, but I cling tight, terrified of falling.

"Boy!" he shouts. "Get yer scrawny bu-ttom offa me, lad!"

Frantically I kick my legs out, scrambling for a firm hold somewhere. My nails accidentally find the soft pink flesh of his neck and I panic, thrashing around like a small worm. My hands lose their grip and, with a yelp, I tumble to the ground.

The trainer whirls around, his red eyes suddenly feral. "BOY!" he hollers. "What'd you blasted boy do that fer?"

With huge eyes, I murmur out something intelligible, completely terrified.

He sees the axe lying next to me and tries out a smile. "You wanted to learn the way of the axe, eh?" I nod quickly, my heart thumping miles a minute.

He grabs the handle and examines it while I get up. With a sly grin, he hands it back to me and proceeds the lesson of swinging the weapon. It's harder than I expected, for sure. Heavier, too.

I hear a grunt from behind me and glance back to see Leaf, my weak district partner. She's so easy to get a rise out of, and I admit that I might have a miniscule crush on her. Her hair's so soft, and she smells permanently like a pine bough.

Needless to say, of course I had to hide my feelings for her. I always have had to, even back in District Seven. When Jessie my sister didn't outshine me, Leo did, and when he couldn't then Jessie did. I was expected to simply stay put, quiet. Laziness invaded my body, and I silently learned the fine art of manipulation at the tender age of nine.

There was never time for emotion, for passion or anything of the sort. But here, where nobody knows me? It's the perfect time to recreate myself, to try and become a strong competitor. And I've read in books that there's no hero without an enemy. That's where little sniveling Cohush came in. Spitting my gum at him took a few tries and quite a few sticks of gum. But it worked, and now I believe he's my enemy.

The only downside to this? He tried to become _Leaf's_ ally. Sort of the exact opposite of what I was aiming for. By a stroke of complete luck, Leaf was terrified that Cohush was not a person to beat around the bush.

Suddenly I hear that same grunt, the sound of air swooshing from something cutting sharply through the air, and I barely have enough time to duck before an axe comes hurtling through the air. It zings along just inches above the crown of my head, and with a glare, I snap my head back to see Leaf. Her face is tomato red, completely ashamed.

"Ben," she croaks. "I-I'm sorry–"

"Sorry?" I hiss, totally against my will, but my mind is SCREAMING out, _don't show your feelings! Ever!_

"Sorry? If you were truly sorry, you would not be so, so reckless!" I shriek out, emphasizing my words with little jabs of my fists. "I mean, you could have implanted that in my skull and… BOOM! I could possibly have died!" _By the hands of my own crush,_ my mind adds quickly.

Leaf's huge eyes widen even more. "I-I know," she chokes out. "I was aiming for the dummy over there…"

Warmness spreads quietly over my heart, but I ignore it completely. "Fine, good for you," I sneer, casting my own weapon to the ground and striding away.

**Lux Sephina, District Five**

"Very good! Now, what would you do in the case of an attack by fire?"

I smile, tilting my head slightly to the side. "Easy. You fling whatever you're holding so it doesn't catch on fire as well, and then you'd drop to the ground and roll to smother it. Unless, of course, there's a water source nearby. That would be the simplest thing to do."

The trainer smiles, her kind browns eyes twinkling. "I must say, you're really excelling at these survival situations."

"Thank you. I listened a lot in school, I suppose."

She laughs, a tinkling giggle that sounds a bit like jingling bells. "I can tell! You're very smart."

Warmed by the praise, I wink at her, chuckling as well. "You're really nice, you know that?"

The trainer offers a cheerful grin, shifting the cards in her hand again. "Thank you, Lux. Throughout all my years as a survival-skills trainer, you're one of the nicest that has come along!" she winks back at me. "All right, continuing on…"

"Actually," I interrupt her, my cheeks warming a bit, "I… I was thinking that perhaps I should be moving on to another station? I've spent all my time here since lunch, I mean, and, well… you know, we only have about half an hour left, and seeing as this is the last day of training…"

"Of course," she accepts this with a slightly less sure smile. "We want you to do well in the arena, obviously. Well…. It's been nice knowing you, Lux."

Her sendoff seems morbid… a lot. With an uneasy handshake I trot off, sweat pricking at my skin. Does she even think I have a chance? I know I'm not one of the youngest, at fifteen. There's a range of thirteen-year-olds and a twelve-year-old, even a couple tributes at fourteen. But… why would she tell me "nice knowing you"? The very thought makes me quiver with apprehension.

"_YAH!" _

Gasping, I whirl around just in time to see the handsome boy from One, Brucite, swinging a thick black mace right into the center of a face skull. Splinters of white explode everywhere, along with fake shards of red that must resemble blood. Grinning, Brucite sets himself up for another swing, this time at a tanned dummy.

"_ARGH!"_ he shouts bitterly, the mace coming into contact with the stomach. A resounding smack tells me that he must have broke the framing inside it. The fake person topples to the ground, a gaping hole in its abdomen.

Just think, in less than two days I'll be seeing that for myself, on a real tribute…

Shuddering, I scurry off to another section, the closest one. Knives. A versatile, yet simple weapon. I consider this rapidly, my mind flooding with other thoughts that beg to be loose. Should I? Should I not? There are plenty of other weapons that could be possible fits, but _which one to choose_?

A shrill bell alerts me, and the monotone voice follows the noise. "Tributes," it murmurs, "you have fifteen minutes to complete your training here. Thank you, and have a nice day."

_No! _

My eyes frantically darted around. Allies or training? Allies or training? Allies or training? Training held the true promise of knowledge, where it would be certain that I'd achieve at least something. If I chose to make allies, there was an uncertain choice that I'd get something out of it, but the reward would be much, much greater.

_Which risk to take?_

I saw a girl, all alone, at an archery station. My heart thudded with anticipation—this had to be a sign!— and as if hell was on my heels, I ran over to her.

It was the buttery-blond-haired girl, the alert girl from District Nine. I remembered that she had gone to the farthest up the climbing wall and even rung the bell. Pretty good climbing skills.

"Hi," I say quickly as I approach her, watching with eager eyes as she shoots an arrow into the heart of a red target. "You're pretty good at that."

Her huge eyes twinkle. "I can't respond in like because I haven't seen your skills yet," she responds playfully. "Go on, I'm sure you'll be a pro in no time."

"Me?" I consider this dramatically. "_Nahhh_."

She raises her pale eyebrows. "Suit yourself," she says lightly, giggling as she notches another feathered arrow in the bowstring. "I suppose you're good at, say, swords and that type?"

"Why, yes. Have you seen me swing them around, knock them all down?"

"It's rhyming time, now is it?"

I'm immediately hitting it off, and I recognize this. With a light grin, I say in the same chipper tone that I had adopted previously, "Rhyming time it is, we must be kindergartners. What a shame that this toddler hasn't an alliance yet."

Normally, this would be where the girl invites me to be allies. But she simply purses her lips in thought, her eyes drifting astray from the target, and says airily, "It really is a shame, especially with fifteen minutes of training left."

"Have you found yourself anybody?" I ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

"Of course. The cute little kid from District Twelve, Surtr, asked me at lunch. I suppose that he's not the best ally, but he was amusing to watch."

"_Wonderful_," I chirp, attempting to keep my tone light, although I know that it's wavering. "I'm afraid that I have to ask you a deep question, now."

"Yes?"

"Would you like to be my ally?"

"I have Surtr."

"Yeah, me and Surtr. Um, together?"

The blond girl smirks, her eyes dancing. "Oh, I never considered _that_. Of course you may. I think Surtr would love another ally."

My heart immediately warms.

**Nubu Chandlers, District Ten**

The bell sounds, signaling the end of training, and I can't help but feel a bit… happy. I don't know, but ever since I was Reaped I felt a sense of… fulfillment? Maybe this was a place where I wouldn't be judged just because of a dirty little secret I kept under wraps. It's so weird and to some extent, morbid because these are the Hunger Games we're talking about. It's supposed to break a person, not make a person.

But it's also odd because my thoughts have sort of been clouded over. I can't even _think_ clearly without being interrupted by a dull, clanging noise that seems to resonate around my skull. It's sort of like I'm losing my wits without even knowing it.

I mean, it's not weird to me. But I'm afraid that my three newfound allies will find me a bit strange. Annabell's okay, if a bit quiet. Willa seems so bold I don't even question her. But Jinx really gets on my nerves with the way she smirks under that sheath of jet black corkscrews, her nails jagged and long, mysterious scars popping up everywhere on her exposed skin. I don't even know. She just bugs me with the way she is sort of flaunting that she's cooler and more arcane than everybody else.

"Nubu?"

I hear my name and look up, half-smiling, my lips betraying my thoughts. "Yeah? Who called me?"

The blond one looks puzzled. "Me, Willa. Come on, Nubu, don't tell me that you can't even remember the name of your new best friend!"

I gave her a hopefully dazzling grin. "Right, I was kidding."

She shakes her head, turning the corners of her mouth up into a grimacing smile. "Funny one, you are. Anyways, I wanted to tell you good night."

"Huh?"

The blonde heaves a huge sigh, tosses her blond tresses behind her shoulder, and plants her hands firmly on my shoulders. "_Good n-_ wait, wait, wait… Holy cow, Nubu, you're hot!"

"I am?" I ask dazedly, my head spinning and doing somersaults, my heart fluttering ten times faster than normal. My stomach is turning with apprehension of something that will never come.

The blond girl—Willa, is her name? — runs her finger onto my forehead, the lines in her forehead creasing deeply. "God," she mutters, "you're burning up."

I touch my cheek. "Doesn't feel like it," I comment airily.

The girl's arm falls back to her side. "Drink lots of fluids tonight," she tells me. "I think you might be sick. That's never good, is it?"

"No," I agree.

With a concerned nod, the female steps into a crowded elevator just before the door closes. With a start, I realize I'm all alone, just me and the training center. I've never liked being alone, despised it, really.

I run a hand through my sandy-colored hair and dart into the last elevator in the row, my heart thudding rapidly. My throat twists with anxiety of something, something that not's there. Dazed, I barely have time to weakly punch the District Ten button before collapsing on the floor, beads of sweat forming a veil over my skin.

I vaguely recall the terrified calls of Eagle, Jamie, and Savanna, recall the strong arms of Eagle that hoisted me into the air like I was nothing more than a simple doll, recall as I'm placed on the soft red sofa. I remember seeing Savanna, her mud-colored eyes humongous with fear and concern. I remember cracking a twisted smile and slowly, as if frozen in time, swat the air even though I know there's _nothing_ there.

"Nubu… Nubu… Nubu…"

I croak out a short reply—"what". I don't remain conscious in time to hear the answering call.

**Nessa Aoki, District Eleven**

After a plentiful feast packed full of delicious dipping sauces, tantalizing meats, and amazingly scrumptious vegetables and random new foods, I retreat to my expansive room. Two nights left before the arena.

The arena—one's stage, another's deathcage. Sadistic, isn't it? And to think that in just two short days, I'll be resting there for perhaps eternity. I'm really glad that Bark took me under his wing, though I doubt he's a worthy ally. I'm glad to have a friend nonetheless, though, of course.

I enter the room, silently marveling at how the clothing vacuum so effortlessly sucks the training outfit's cloth off, replacing it with silky navy pajamas. Back in Eleven, we simply wore a different jacket and took off our pants when we hopped into bed. Even pajamas were a luxury.

But I shouldn't waste any time dwelling on that now. Either I leave here a cold, dead corpse or a beaming victor, preferably the latter.

I glance at the door, in the middle of brushing my long hair, after I hear a light knock. Hesitantly I call out, "Who's there? Seeder?"

"It's me," sings out a familiar voice.

Warmness invades my heart. "Bark! You can come in, it's open."

His beaming face enters, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Did you enjoy supper, Ness?"

"Oh, yes," I gush, clutching the hairbrush's handle tightly, "especially the small balls of meat that oozed out some sort of liquid cheese. Those totally rocked."

"You mean the meatballs?"

"Oh, they have a name?" I raise a thin eyebrow, continuing to brush my hair. Bark makes me feel so comfortable, it's like he's a brother to me. He's kind of cut from the same cloth as Joshua, if I'm honest with myself.

"Everything here has a name," Bark replies, pacing around absentmindedly. "The squishy round things, those are donuts. I think we may have had them back in District Eleven, but I'm unsure."

"I know I did," I answer him, combing my hair out smoothly. "My mother got them for our family once, as a treat."

"Really?" Bark looks suddenly interested. "Were you one of the richer families, then?"

I shrug. "I'm not skeletal like most of the others in the district and we had an actual roof over our heads. I don't quite know our social status, and my mother was always too distant to tell me. What about you, Bark?"

He cracks a sly smile. "Well, the _lower_ class," he emphasizes the word, "had to work for their bread. Most of the kids snatched food and they didn't notice. That's just how it is with us poor people, Nessa."

I blanche, not meaning to sound persnickety. "I'm sure you came from an excellent family," I mutter, tossing the hairbrush aside.

The corners of Bark's mouth turn down sullenly, realizing he's made a mistake. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that."

I turn to him slowly, a knot carefully tying itself in my throat. "Well, what did you mean, then?"

Bark is at a loss for words, gnawing at his thumbnail while staring at me with those gigantic chocolate eyes of his. My tongue is like sandpaper, drier than anything I've ever known. With a small shrug, Bark slumps down in the wooden chair that stands in the corner of my room.

"Sorry," he mutters. "I'm not the best with people."

"Me, either," I agree. "My favorite word is antisocial."

"Not really?" Bark tries a smile, and I burst out into skittish, sort of high-strung laughter.

"I was kidding!"

**Serafina Aegis, District Two**

"Sera-_fiiina_?"

I grit my teeth in annoyance, twirling around to face the dark-skinned Enobaria. "What is it?"

She smiles sloppily, no doubt an aftereffect of the drink she downed at suppertime. "I'm your mentor," she replies airily. "Figured I should give you some advice."

I raise an eyebrow, sweat pricking at my skin. "Sure. What advice, then?"

Enobaria tilts her head to itch her neck. "You should stay with the Careers for as long as you can. Don't leave at the slightest sign of a fracture. Staying with those people could mean life or death, and for me it meant life. Well, that and the fact that I ripped that kid's throat out."

I smile slightly, catching a glimpse of her glistening fangs. "Yes," I mutter. "That certainly was a memorable moment, wasn't it?"

Enobaria relishes in the memory for a moment, then shakes her head briskly as if to snap back to reality. "You will take that little slice of advice and use it, correct?"

Smugly I say, "I don't care if I have to murder every single one of my allies. I'm getting out of here."

"Hah, isn't that the spirit. Anyways, onto a different subject… Slate told Brutus you were following that Percy boy around. Anything to say about that, or do you just have a crush on him?"

I nearly blush, but somehow maintain my icy appearance. "Definitely not," I say coolly, "He just reminds me of my brother, that's all."

Enobaria's eyes glow. "You told me you had a spitfire of a sister, but not a brother. Care to share?"

My insides grow numb. I really don't like talking about Corinthus, it just sparks bad memories that seem to spring up wherever I go. It's like Cassius, but ten times worse. With a deadened shake of my head, I turn to leave.

"Stop."

The sound of her deep voice catches me in my tracks, and slowly I turn around to face my mentor. "Serafina, I'm your mentor. It's either going to kill you in that arena or make you a victor. Either way, I'm definitely not going to spill any secret of yours. Brutus, for one thing, is the idiot who tells everybody's secrets, not I."

I force a sarcastic look, but it's shaky and unconvincing. "Y-yeah," I choke out. "I mean, I suppose you're right."

Enobaria scowls thickly, then motions to the two plush maroon chairs that circle the fireplace. "Sit and talk. You have a lot of explaining to do."

I obey her carefully, looking for any open slot to get out of this situation. I'm desperate. "Serafina, start talking. We don't have all night. Brutus has already hit the sack and Slate is winding down."

"W-Well," I start out slowly, "my father always wore the pants in my family. He was so controlling and yet so proud of his three kids, you know? We each had something special. With Corinthus it was stoic patience, with Bellona it was the fiery personality, and with me it was the fact that I was so good at training." I force the tears back into my eyes, the salty tears that threaten to spill out of my eyes. I don't want to tell this woman any more, yet she beckons me with her sage eyes and that knowing, grim expression.

"And Corinthus was never one for physical activity, more like knowledge. He was really wise. My father, he didn't like that, he didn't want him to be a scholar or mentor or anything like that. And I don't know how he got it through his twisted mindset that being a Peacekeeper was better than being a wise man, but… he expected my big brother to become one. Which meant that he had to abandon everything—his family, friends, even his fiancée, Delaney."

Enobaria made a suitable, sympathetic sound and, grateful for her sympathy, I give her a quick nod.

"And ever since, my connections with Corinthus have been limited. I've barely seen him, but luckily he's usually on Reaping duty." I smile faintly at the memory of him, waving his hand off to me, as I mounted the stage. "Ever since… Corinthus has become a memory."

Enobaria has assumed that same grim expression, although her sparkling eyes tell me that she might be acting—after all, wasn't she drunk a minute ago? "That's pretty sad, Serafina," she murmurs after a moment, her tone neutral and uncaring.

"I know it is," I say, irritated by her sudden attitude change. Getting up to leave, I wave briskly and, fingering the snowflake token's sharp spokes, I head to my room in silence.

Enobaria can't help me. I've had this ingrained into my mind since I was just a kid, a stupid, naïve kid. I doubt any other pieces of advice could be implanted into my skull.

**A/N: Red Lips by Sky Ferreira.**

**Blog: ashotinthedarkhungergames . blogspot . com – just take out the spaces.**

**Time to rejoice! FINALLY, AN UPDATE! Do you all love me or what? Haha. :) I know, I know, it took forever to get this chapter posted. But hey, it's up now and ready to be reviewed. Summer's right around the corner so there should be plentiful updates over the summer months, wahoo! ^.^**

**Oh, and I'd suggest taking my profile poll? For your favorite tribute? It might waver my victor decision… :)**

**QUESTIONSSSS. **

**1. What were your thoughts on each POV?**

**2. What was your least favorite POV? Your most favorite? Why?**

**3. What are you looking forward to?**

**4. What tributes do you think will develop most over time?**


	16. Holiday

_**Hear the drum pounding out of time**_

_**Another protester has crossed the line**_

**Leaf Ender, District Seven**

Choking down my breakfast takes tons of effort. Even the smallest bagel swallow takes all my strength. It's like all my stamina has been sucked out of me. It's so hard knowing that I'll have to perform all my strengths in front of judgmental Gamemakers, the people who could make or break me. My stomach quakes insanely as I choke down some apple juice.

Blight notices my fear and tries to console me, but his kind words and gentle smile have no effect on my terror. Literally, I'm wrapped in a cold sweat like it's a blanket. What's even worse is that I'll have to face Cohush, the very same guy who I had to decline an alliance offer yesterday.

Cohush… the mere mention of his name makes me shiver in disgust.

Johanna sees me, my pale, gaunt expression, and somehow finds the strength in her heart to offer a kind word. "Hey, kid," she mumbles, like it's the last thing she wants to do, "if you're acting weak, you're doing a bloody good job."

I smile feebly. "If only," I mutter. But to be honest, wouldn't the other tributes expect that? A remake of Johanna, the weedy weakling who snuffled whenever she could? And from the same district, no less. Yes, I understand that the woman was attempting to cheer me up, but honestly, does she really think it will be that easy?

Even Ben is perfectly blithe, and usually he's more jittery than me. He's sipping his juice with vigor, rubbing a knife on a slice of toast to butter it up.

"Why are you so excited?" I ask him dejectedly.

His face is split in a beam as I speak to him. "Don't be so melancholy, Leaf! This is the dawning of the rest of our lives!"

"What are you, a scholar?" I mutter gloomily.

Ben can only keep that stupid chipper expression on his face. "This is just a game of chess, and we're all pawns."

I scowl darkly. "That's really helpful, do you know that, Ben?"

"I don't see why you said no to my ally request."

"Hey, hey, no changing the subject on me!" I protest, shoving the bagel back onto the plate. "Don't be rude!"

Ben rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Don't be so dramatic, Leaf. Tomorrow's the last day we'll live, unless fate decides to be kind to us. I doubt it, you idiot. Live it up, it doesn't matter."

My mouth agape, I silently watch as Ben spits out a bread crust, striding to the elevator, bouncing on his heels merrily. He jabs the button and, with a seemingly _gleeful_ wave, the doors have closed, locking Ben inside the wide capsule to go down.

Johanna sputters out a twisted laugh. "Doesn't he just crack you up? Blight, I think I did great with him, eh?"

Blight manages a smile. "You transformed him from a cruel little boy into a wiser guy. I applaud you, Johanna."

"Yeah," she replies, "and what have you done with Leaf over there? Seems the same as when she first arrived. Scared and wide-eyed." Nice Johanna is gone, it seems.

"Hey," I protest. "I'm determined… I guess. But not much else."

Johanna raises her thin eyebrows as she slides a crusty bagel off the platter. "You got a little fight left in you, I guess."

I pout to myself as I head towards the elevator, my stomach quaking. Haven't I always had a little fight in me? Blight's always believed in me.

To think I still haven't told him that I named my dog after him…!

**Savanna Poppet, District Ten**

My hands grow clammy with every impending second. I tug furiously at my chestnut locks of hair as if they were lifelines, while Nubu whistles cheerfully, his head on his blond ally's lap. Willa, is it? I don't know. Well, I actually do know, I just don't care to 'remember' her name. She rejected me for her alliance and picked freakish little Nubu instead.

I sigh softly, turning away from the gushy scene. I suppose this has turned me bitter. My thoughts always were more childish than anything.

"_Brucite Gergeon, District One, you may enter."_

The monotone voice blasts through a tiny speaker in the corner of the wall. I look up, my mind clouded with mixed emotions, and watch as the boy with caramel hair turns to everybody, awkwardly waves. I keep my smirk planted firmly on my face even as his eyes pierce through my own. Staying strong, staying strong.

His responding smirk, with those haunted eyes, send terrors crawling up my spine. Mine is the last face he sees before he exits through that tall, impending white door.

Call me crazy, but I don't think I'll be looking forward to meeting him in the arena.

I sigh again, resting my cheek on the palm of my hand as I lean forward onto the table. It's all so real. Tomorrow's my last night in safety. From there on out, I'll need to battle my way through the arena and kill and slaughter and maim and what good will that do? I'll die eventually.

It's not like I'm making it home, to my sisters and parents and extended family. Reno will learn to move on, and her dollies will be there for her when our parents can't be. Holly will mourn for a while—she always was the more emotional one—but eventually, I'll simply be another name in her book and she'll go on, giggling and pretending she's five years older than she actually is.

Tragic.

"_Constance von Trapp of District One, you may enter…"_

With a light laugh and a flirty wave of her fingers, the arrogant blondie from District One leaves, shaking her rear end as she exits. I can't help but stifle a laugh as the guy from Four, Percy, clears his throat and awkwardly shifts in his seat.

The room is, like, completely silent. None of the alliances are talking, chattering advice to each other, they're simply staying put, their faces set as if in stone. It's like they're mute, completely mute.

I flex my fingers, breezing past what Jamie and Eagle told Nubu and I.

"_Show your best strengths," Jamie said, her eyes widening slowly as she told us. It was obvious that mentoring was a real pleasure of hers._

_Eagle rolled her eyes, looking even more regal and majestic than before. "Do that if you want to go the boring way," she drawled. "Take a risk if you want a good score. Trust me, it could really pay off in the end."_

_Jamie frowned, glancing over at Eagle for a moment too long. "Or it could not pay off," she told us uncertainly. "But if you're just good at survival skills, do only that. With only weapon skills, accomplish those. If you just really play up your strengths, you're guaranteed a satisfactory score."_

_Eagle snorted, tossing her thick hair back with a flick of her hand. "Is that what you did, Jamie? Just went in there and braided knots the entire time?"_

_Jamie flushed red. "You were my mentor. You told me to do that, Eagle."_

"_Ah, yes, back in the days of good fortune." Eagle stretched her arms high above her head, pointing her long nose up. "Back when District Ten was bringing home victors left and right. You were the bad luck charm, Jamie. After you, we never did get another one."_

_Jamie scowled. "You brought home two victors, Eagle. You, Hestia, and Marcus, and that's it. If you haven't noticed, we are not exactly the wealthiest district in Panem, nor am I glad to mentor for this place. It really sucks, you know that?"_

_Meanwhile, Nubu was smirking in that threatening, arrogant way of his, his head swaying slightly to an invisible tune. "You guys are cool," he murmured in a rich, velvety tone. "I like you."_

_Eagle raised a thick eyebrow. "Is that so," she replied stiffly. "That's nice, Nubuon."_

_Nubu smirked again, more forced this time. "Just like the mother I never had… You're seriously cool, Eagle."_

With a slight shake of my head, I try to remember that they're my last hope and I should probably listen to them. But how can I listen to the two when they can't keep off one another long enough to really dish out some advice?

**Slate Bessarion, District Two**

"So?" Serafina plasters a small smile onto her mug. "I think now would be an adequate time to mention your strategies, Slate."

I roll my eyes. "None of that's happening until you reveal anything about yourself, Serafina," I tell her. "Everybody here knows my strengths and all that. All you did was mirror Percy and remain mum about your past. I'm interested, as is everybody else."

Serafina's smile is gone, replaced by widened eyes, parted lips, and an overall shocked look. Her pale eyes dart about our small alliance, but everybody shares the same interested, curious expression. Her nostrils flare in disgust as she rolls her shoulders back. "What's there to know?" she says uneasily.

"Everything!" I toss my hands up in the air in annoyance. "Tell us anything! Honest to God, it's so irritating that you're so secretive. No offense."

She bites her lip, her icy exterior slowly cracking.

"Well…" she stretched the word out, glancing at the speaker as it calls out my name. "Oh, I'm sorry. It looks like you have to go. See you later, Slate."

Steaming interiorly, I push open the heavy doors and make my way out to the arena.

I really do care about my district partner. It seems a bit odd, seeing how she's never done anything for myself personally. But I guess her vulnerable side sort of seeps through her icy exterior sometimes. Like… how she follows Percy. It's either a crush or he reminds her of somebody. I _know_ that feeling.

When my girlfriend Artemis disappeared, I flirted with a ton of girls that reminded me of her. I was so homesick in a sense, mournful and I just wanted her back in my arms. And day after day, she never showed up. I was sick with despair. I followed around the most flirty, popular girl in all of District Two just because she looked somewhat like… _her_.

So what can Serafina be hiding? I don't mean to push her, I just want her to… to tell me. To lighten up a bit, to smile.

Teeth clenched, I shake my head. No distractions. I need this training session to be perfect, to show potential sponsors that yes, I am indeed worth sponsoring. To show other tributes that Slate Bessarion, the reserved one from District Two, is a force that you really shouldn't mess with.

I enter, my hair flowing gently and a toothy beam planted on my face. "Hello, Gamemakers!" I shout out ecstatically. "Are you all ready to see my skills with scythes, paired with my brutal strength?"

The Gamemakers laugh good-naturedly—all with the exception of one. Seneca Crane. I've heard his name around my grandfather's house many times.

I select the scythe I've worked with, a silver specimen with a thick rubber gripper. I size up the line of dummies in front of me before moving quickly to the panel on the wall. Once there, I run through and select the option '_Moving Targets'._

A whirring noise behind me tells me that the line of dummies is already moving. I battle the forming smile as I turn to them, eyeballing the first one as it zips by. I chase it, pumping my arms and allowing my thick black hair to flow back as I snap forward. With a grunt, I heave myself forward, slam the weapon into its back, and with that implanted there, hooked into the plastic skin, gain enough momentum to bring myself forward. Once I've caught up with it, I dart alongside it as I carve out its fake silicone heart.

Snatching my prize, I repeat the motions with the next four dummies. Five fake hearts soon are in my possession, and I proudly display this to the Gamemakers. A couple of them applaud.

The rest of my session is spent benching. I add loads of weight onto the end of one bar, easily heaving it up with a grin on my face the entire time, showing them that for me, it's effortless. Most of them seems very impressed, but a few look to see Seneca's reaction. He appears torn, his expression unreadable.

Whatever. If it's majority rules, I have this one in the bag.

**Percy Brizo, District Four**

Disregarding that stupid monotone voice, I slide past the doors quickly. I'm just going to go out there and do it, yeah. No thinking about Annie or Finnick or Coral or anybody. It will be just me and those bows and arrows.

I shudder immediately once I stride into the arena. I can't help it. It's creepy being in there almost alone with the exception of the people who are willing to send you to death. I mean… surreal, man. Surreal.

I awkwardly pick up a bow, my hands shaking with fear. Fear? Percy doesn't allow fear. He's way too manly and all that junk to be scared. Heh.

Who am I kidding. I can't even fool myself.

My thoughts are even all jumbled together like I'm half-asleep or something. It's like a gnarled tangle of vines, except with my thoughts, if that makes any sense. No, a pit of snakes. My mind is writhing, a new thought popping up randomly every half second. A smile forms on my face, a small one, but a smile nonetheless. Good. I'll need a bit of cheer to push me through this.

I notch an arrow half-heartedly, glancing sporadically at the Gamemakers. Half of them are sipping some red drink as they watch me. The other half are pressed up against the ledge, their eyes boring into me, acknowledging openly that if I make one fatal flaw, my score will be immediately dashed. My hopes officially shatter as I realize this, and a cold sweat breaks out over my skin.

I squint, peering up at the potential targets. My eye locks in on one that I practiced on a lot, only about ten feet up. With ease the arrow flies into it with a _thunk_, catching it just off center. Not bad. I smirk inwardly, self-satisfied. I don't dare look at the Gamemakers.

For the next few minutes, it's just me, notching arrows and shooting them into the targets, most of them hitting it pretty well. A couple of the blasted things soar into the outer rings, which makes me fairly nettled; I mean, it's not even my fault. The stupid bow kept malfunctioning and the arrows wouldn't notch right.

Peeking up at the clock, which reads "_2 minutes till done_" I quickly cast my quiver to the side and scurry over to the edible foods station, snatching up fruits like pears and apples.

Making sure I had the Gamemakers' attention, I tossed the first fruit—a giant green apple—up into the air before releasing an arrow. It missed by a couple inches, and my chest grew hot with anger. I tossed a small tan melon into the air, which I succeeded in shooting, but that was much larger than the apple. My body quivering with rage, I began chucking the fruits up without even shooting them, watching them crash onto the ground in a pulpy mess.

"Mr. Brizo… you may leave."

Teeth clenched, I offer a low, respectful bow and stride out, my pride barely there.

The elevator ride up seems like an eternity. It takes forever simply to reach the floor for District One, much less Four. For the majority of the ride, I lean against the cool marble wall with my eyes shut tightly, fists clenched with silent anger. _Why_ did I flub up the private session? Seriously? I mean, I did ah-mazing in training. I shot everything that I threw up with finesse.

Maybe it was just nerves…

Or maybe the fact that that one guy's beard really creeped me out.

**Francis Theroux, District Six**

"Find a tree, a beautiful tree…"

I was in the middle of another vision. It happened smack dab in the middle of my training session, but I was not one to turn down a vision, oh no. Especially not when a beautiful caramel-haired woman was singing in it. Most visions had a rather plump woman in them, a woman that attempted singing but mostly sounded like a raucous bird.

Humming, chanting, I try to pick deeper into this vision, to see what it means. Usually after only a few seconds the vision splits in half and I can see further into it. But this one's tricky. It resumes the fading image of that same brown-eyed woman, her white dress twirling around in the breezy gales that surround her, clinging to her slender legs.

Suddenly the picture dips into a color of deep sepia, like some old-timey picture. With a slight gasp, I reach my hand out to try and touch the woman. But something's odd. Unlike many of my other visions, this one is not interactive. All I touch is cold air.

For some odd reason, I can't immerse myself in this particular vision. And to be honest, that frightens me.

A loud clanging noise erupts from my side splitting right through the gorgeous lady and reaching my ears. Irked, I attempt to cover up my ears but it's too late. The picture has vanished, leaving only a set of very annoyed-looking Gamemakers. Oh, yeah. I was in the middle of my training session.

I half-heartedly grab a pot of yellow camouflage paint and smear it over my arms, creating some illusion of sun rays. Hah. I'm totally kidding. With two fingers I scoop up some hunter green paint and start blending it in. Maybe if I'm quick, I can make it look like dead pine needles–

_Beeeeeh._

"Mr. Theroux!" a Gamemaker with an odd beard, Seneca Crane, I think, towers above me on the platform, glaring down with blackened eyes. "Your time was up half a minute ago! It would be kind of you to leave and allow the other tributes some time."

A knot forming in my throat, I nod quickly and skitter out, heels clapping against the thick soles of the training center's boots, the ones that were given to me by my stylist. Her name is Persia. She's a funny lady, roly-poly with unhappiness bottled up inside of her. I can tell…

I mount the elevator and ride up to my floor. Waiting for me eagerly is Dalton, his face lit up in a glowing beam. "Well, how'd you do, friend?"

Friend. He thinks of me as an actual friend, not just some kid he's being forced to mentor. Warmness fills my heart and I grin up at his lanky form. "I think I did alright," I say, hiding the arm that's slathered with paint behind my back. "I mean, I don't believe I could have done terrible. Or rather, it's an opinionated matter, really… Anyways, the score will tell you all you need to know, right?"

Dalton nods briskly, cheerfully. "That's wonderful! Maybe you won't die. Then you can come back and we can celebrate your victory!"

My smile is a little more forced now. I know Dalton's not all right in the head. Gingham filled me in on that. But he won his Games, and he still has memories of that, and he still wants to help people. I have to remember that whenever I question his sanity. He's like a book, in some ways. Good for one thing.

Information.

Something I've always craved.

Information.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

I've done knives, slashed them at the hard surface of the dummy until my wrist hurt. I ran. Ran till my arms were pumping and I couldn't breathe any more. Lastly, I picked out the edible plants from the ones that would kill me instantly. It seems I've done an entire training center day's worth of training.

So why does this seem to drag on forever? For God's sake, I still have three minutes left and nobody's even paying attention. They're all focused on their beverages. Really ticks me off. They're not even being professional. They'd better give me a high score for this or I'll really be steamed.

What to do, what to do…

My eyes fall upon the gauntlet, something Annabell and I tried. I was fairly decent at it, avoiding most of the paddles and beams and such. Why not try now?

I adjust the belt and harness for the gauntlet onto myself and jump into action.

The first set is difficult. I skitter across a row of thin boards, all placed facing upwards, that ominously teeter as I skip across them. My weight seems like it'll just about shatter them. The last board is a welcome sight, and I throw myself across to the ledge.

The next part is slightly easier. I must cross a single fraying rope. But for some reason, I'm not scared. My incredibly fantastic sense of balance will help me. It doesn't hurt that when I tried this with my allies, they all saw how agile I was and they encouraged me. Well, except for Jinx, who had sat there sullenly, her long talons tracing circles on her training jumpsuit…

With a few short steps, I make it across the rope and onto the actual gauntlet part. This is very hard. Paddles swing out at me randomly, and dim lights illuminate them so you barely have a warning of when they're coming. A grim line forms where my mouth once was, in determination.

I run.

_Swoosh. Swoosh._ Two paddles, side by side, collapse where I just was. Teetering slightly to the right, bending to meet the low-hanging ceiling of the tunnel it exits into, I toss my body across a gap as if it were made of nothing more than muslin and beads. A bead doll. Smiling at the childhood memory, I leap to avoid another paddle. Happiness and hope makes this easier to accomplish, and I couldn't be gladder that I realized that.

_Think of home. Of your friend, Lillian. Of your parents and family and everybody else. _

I giggle lightly, girlishly. But this catches me off guard. With a final _swoosh_, a paddle comes out of nowhere, conks me in the shoulder, and casts me to the ground, ten feet below.

The landing pad catches me, but it's not injuries that I'm worried about. It's my pride. The Gamemakers have chosen this moment to glance over, and all they're seeing is me, on the ground, dazed and exhausted.

The buzzer sounds. With an angry huff, I rip off the harness and storm out.

I don't need this, don't need them. I can operate just fine with myself and my allies alone. I mean, Annabell is the best friend anybody can ever ask for. Nubu's fine, just seems a bit like he's losing his wits, but that's understandable. Some days I don't even trust myself, either. Jinx can easily be molded into a great friend.

See? The best team here, hands down.

I'll stop at nothing to protect them.

A smile ghosts over my lips as I enter the elevator. "Sticks and stones may break my bones but I can break you and that's better, don't you think?" I rehearse to myself.

Much better.

**Bark Umbral, District Eleven**

Nerves wrack my body as I enter into the huge room, shivers creeping over my skin. I haven't been frightened lately, not really. But suddenly, as of just now, I've been so freaked out that my stomach has been turning, my eyes have been crossing, and my palms have grown sweaty.

Will the Gamemakers appreciate my display of edible plants and insects? It's not very impressive, but it's all I have. Weapons, camouflage, survival skills, nothing like that is my strong suit. Edible foods… that's where I have a chance to reign supreme.

When I come into the massive arena, my eyes immediately flicker over to the Gamemakers' ledge. Only three or four of them wait patiently at the banister. The rest are all feasting, joking around, and sipping beverages.

This is actually my stroke of luck. Perhaps they'll just give me a good score on whim?

I finish the edible plant naming activity after much thought. My score pops up on the screen—98%. I did not-so-well in training, so this is actually a pleasant surprise. At least I can contribute _something_ to my alliance. A smile makes its way across my chin, for once satisfied.

For the rest of the time, I don't care if I impress them or not—I mean, that was pretty killer, that score. That nearly-100 score was enough to send adrenaline coursing through my veins, so I practice climbing nimbly up the ropes until the buzzer rings and my hands are covered in rope burns.

Grinning broadly, I bow to the ground and march out, my pride intact.

Chaff and Seeder and Paolo are all eating dinner—some sort of salad and soup course, by the looks of it. I eagerly join them.

Over pumpkin-almond soup, Nessa joins. She must be happy, because she strikes up a conversation immediately.

"Bark, how do you think you did?" she asks, munching down on some buttery asparagus. "Well, that and how did you do? How did the Gamemakers react?"

My grin pops back up good-naturedly. "I think I rocked it, Ness. I did edible plants and bugs and all that, then I climbed the rope course. I made it all the way to the top once. Most of the Gamemakers were not even looking, though." I glance over at Chaff. "Chaff, you know anything about that?"

He belches, for once sober. "They didn't look too much at my session, either, kid. I think that they just have had too much to drink and at that point, just give you a reasonably sensible score, eh?"

My face heats up. "That's not fair," I choke out. "What about all the kids from the Career districts? It's like they're treated better than us, and we're the exact same!"

Chaff shrugs, swigging out of a silver flask. "That's the way it is. It's always been like that, Bark, and we can't change anything about it."

From next to me, Nessa slams her cranberry juice glass down on the table. "Hasn't anybody done anything about this?" she nearly shouts, her loud voice a dramatic change from her usual murmur. "It's so terrible!"

Chaff raises his eyebrows, glances over at his fellow mentor, Seeder. "I wish we could do something about this, kids, but… we just can't. It's not in our blood."

My fingers curl up into fists, surprisingly. I've never been one for force, but right now this newfound, bitter change must have alerted my senses. "Why isn't it in your blood, then?!" I holler at my mentor. "Change something, anything! Treatment should be the same for everybody!"

Seeder shakes her head, her face a mask of that of an old, sage woman. "If only, Bark," she mumbles. "I'd definitely love that. Chaff would as well. Tributes treated alike…. Something we can only dream of."

My throat is dry. I push my chair back, thoroughly disgusted. "You know, maybe I'll just watch the scores by myself, then!"

With that, I snatch up a small loaf of buttery bread and stomp off to my room.

**Alessandra Balis, District Three**

"Hey, everybody!" Arthur's excited voice reaches the table, and both Beetee and Wiress look up. I resume digging into my mashed potatoes. "Caesar's doing the opening act for scores!"

"Nobody cares until the actual scores, Arthur," I call back bitterly and dryly. "So just… hush up, would you?"

Arthur's face visibly falls. "You're no fun, Alessandra," he responds miserably before turning back to the large screen.

Smiling just a bit at his eagerness-turned-sadness, I inhale the rest of my lemonade before plopping down on the soft brown couch. There's Caesar Flickerman, clad in powdery sky blue. His wrinkled face is stretched into an overly dramatic beam as he listens in on Annie Cresta's interview. Annie's introducing the scores along with Caesar and Claudius Templesmith, it seems. Reasonable. She's the newest victor, after all.

I can almost imagine my grinning face up there with the two men as well, next year.

Heh. Almost.

The sudden sound of the Capitol anthem jolts me and my eyes snap to the screen. There's the smirking face of Brucite Gergeon, a cobalt blue _10_ underneath his headshot. I gulp. Pretty good. His district partner doesn't match that, but her_ 9_ is very threatening.

District Two. Slate, a tanned man with sleek black hair, earns himself a _9_ while Serafina's picture comes with the same cobalt _10_ as Brucite's. Fierce competition. Slate looks sage and wise while Serafina looks simply lethal. Brains and brawn.

Arthur's picture pops up of him looking normally cheeky. Our mentors and he both hold their breath while his number slides into place— a royal blue _4_. Arthur lets out a breath and struggles to maintain a calm face. "Well," he mutters to Beetee, "I did the best I could. I guess it wasn't good enough."

I drown the rest of whatever they're saying out as my picture pops up, my angelic smile beaming. I hold my breath—this is it—as I see the number that matches Arthur's. A _4_.

In a fit of rage, ignoring any calming words that Wiress and Beetee throw at me, I dart to the kitchen, tears blurring in my eyes, combining with my eyelashes to form a salty mess of brackish water. I trained. I used to live in District Two where I threw spears, did swords, all that, and I still earn myself a frigging four. That's all I have to show for myself? That will be the Balis family legacy? A _FOUR_?

Words can't describe how upset I am.

Sniffling, I snatch up a butter knife from the sink, where an Avox is doing the dishes, and hurtle it at the wall. It doesn't even stick. The handle collides with a picture frame and both knife and frame topple to the ground together in a noisy mess.

"That's it," I announce tearfully, "if I can't even throw a stupid butter knife, I'm never going to make it past Day Four! I'm not even *sniff* going to make it to… *sob* the FINAL TEN!"

Emotions, emotions, emotions. They overwhelm my senses and, in a heap of sadness and tears, I slide to the ground, sobbing loudly and melodramatically.

The Avox looks over at me sympathetically, her eyes full of worry and sorrow. I want her to hug me. It's a strange urge, but I've always felt safer in somebody's arms. Maybe that was why Ryan was so attractive to me. His hulking form was comforting. But when that Avox looks over, my stomach quakes and immediately I feel the urge to lie.

"Whatever you say… it wasn't me." I look at her expectantly, knowing that she'll reply with a nod. And she does.

Tears welling up in my eyes tell me to stop being a baby. Tell me that I'm obviously the sagest one here, so I have no reason to start crying.

But emotions come—they _always_ do.

Swiping away at my eyes furiously, I snatch up a roll from the table and, nibbling despite the intricate knot in my throat, I start moving towards my bedroom.

Wiress pokes her head out of the living room. "You aren't going to come watch with us?" she says in that faraway tone she's so capable of. "I'm sure you want to see the scores of the other tributes."

"Nope," I respond, brushing her off like a pesky fly. "I just wanted to see my score and the Careers'."

"District Four…" Wiress begins.

"Nope, technically they aren't a Career district. They're just the little bits added on to make One and Two seem more threatening. On their own, they can't hold anything," I say, tearing a chunk of bread off with my teeth. Talking through it, I tell her in a muffled tone, "Anyways, I'm going to bed."

I feel Wiress's soft eyes watching me as I shut my bedroom door and, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I feel guilty.

**Alister Rain, District Five**

"Alessandra Balis with a four!"

Fidgeting, I hear Kassidy behind me. I turn to see her bold red locks and striking eyes. "Alister, you're not listening to me, are you."

I blink. "Um. Yes, I am…"

"That's a first," she sighs. "Can you tell me now what you did in training? I'm your _mentor_. You're _supposed_ to tell me these things."

I eyeball Lux, who watches silently from the sofabed with a small smirk planted on her mug. "I will, eventually. Maybe after scores. _Alone_. If that's all right with you."

Kassidy follows my gaze. "Yeah, I'm okay with that, I guess. I mean, I understand that you want to keep your strategies under wraps. That was mine, too."

"Hey…" Lux begins, her eyebrows meeting in a confused expression, "didn't I tell you all what I was doing at the dinner table? How come I had to spill my strategies?" She fidgets with her fingers, flexing and bending them. "That's not really fair!"

I raise my eyebrows smugly. "That's what you get for being too trusting."

Lux scowls as Caesar announces District Four. "Honestly, Alister, you're such a pain in the neck sometimes. Any other district partner would have been amazing compared to you. You're so… snarky."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks."

"Percy Brizo, scoring in with an impressive ten!"

"D'you think I'll be able to get a good score, Kassidy?" I ask her vaguely, eyes glued to the expansive screen that lies in front of me. "I'm a good contender, right?"

Kassidy's words drip poison. "I don't know. You haven't showed me any of your frigging skills yet."

"Coral Fisher with a respectable nine, matching Slate and Constance. It looks like the Careers this year will be a force to admire, Panem. Which one are YOU betting on?" The rhetorical question makes me shake my head.

"It's like Caesar's discounting Arthur already," I mutter.

My picture slides into place and I hold my breath. When a _7_ rolls onto the screen, it's all I can do to keep from jumping up and shrieking. "Alister Rain receiving a seven. A wonderful score for an outlier district. He'll certainly be one to watch in the arena! Look out, tributes!" Claudius chuckles and, after a moment, Annie Cresta joins in uncertainly.

"Nicely done!" For once, Kassidy's face is aglow with pleasure. "That's wonderful, Alister! Now I'll really be looking forward to seeing what you can do." A beam creeps up on her, and I'm rather glad I brought her to smile. It is a nice smile, after all. You can just see the hope in it, the hope that she'll be able to bring me back as a victor.

Lux's picture flickers onto the screen, her chubby cheeks and pillowy lips giving the impression of a well-fed girl. Editing, editing, editing…

"Lux Sephina… with a five. Not too shabby!"

Lux lets out a breath, obviously trying to hide a smile. "Oh, no…" she really doesn't sound very upset.

"Why are you smiling?" I ask.

"M-Me? I'm not smiling. I got an average score. Why would I be smiling?" The nervousness is apparent in her shaky, detached voice. I decide not to press her any further and instead shrug with a small smile, turning back to the screen.

"Francis Theroux with a… oh, a _one_. Better luck next time, Francis!"

"No threat there," Kassidy snorts. "Unless, of course, he purposely botched it up. You remember Johanna Mason, a few years back? She portrayed a weakling so others would underestimate her. Turns out she was better than half the Careers."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Jinx Tesatsu… oh my God, with a score of a ten! Congratulations, Jinx!"

Tuesday, silent up to this moment sitting on the loveseat behind me, clucks her tongue in pity. "The girl's placed a target on her back, a target for those Careers. But the score obviously shows skill. I'd suggest staying away from her, Lux. You too, Alister."

The rest of the scores are watched in silence until Caesar and Claudius and Annie, with relieved and somewhat cheerful expressions, close out the show. Kassidy doesn't waste time in dragging me to the kitchen, where she immediately spits out, "What are your skills? Tell me now!"

I blink a couple times, then smile slyly. "Patience will come, Kassidy." At that, she explodes into rage.

**Annabell Berry, District Twelve**

I clench my fists as Caesar cheerily announces, "And for young Ben McMhon, a four! Aw… Ben, you should know that all of Panem has fallen in love with you—that's an upside!"

"Where is Haymitch?" Surtr asks me, sounding dreadfully bored. His expression shows it clearly. I shrug.

"Out with Chaff!" our escort snorts, tossing those long locks to the side. "I bet they're drinking and making bets on which one of you will die first."

"That'll be me," Surtr responds gloomily, his eyes straying to the screen as Leaf Ender receives a meager four, matching her district partner.

I shake my head, smiling. Not necessarily. I don't think I have much of a chance, either. If anything, I should have asked Surtr to be in Willa's alliance as well. I rather like the little ball of energy that he represents, but I suppose that his alliance is fine as well.

"Camo Russo with a one!"

"I wonder why he got a one?!" Surtr sounds very confused, and he turns to me. "You saw him throw axes around like he's been playing with them since birth, didn't you? He had insane skills!"

I nod, curious as well. Did he purposely mess his score up to appear a non-threat? It's stupid, though, because everyone saw him. A one is sort of low for a man like him.

"Willa Seamstress…" I lean forward, blood pumping through my veins, "receives a five!"

I sit back in my seat, running my hand over the arm of the chair. A five. Average.

"Cohush Nigrum has the score of a three! Nicely done, Cohush!"

Surtr stifles a giggle. "I wonder why he said THAT," he snorts. "That kid's terrible!"

I want to chide him, say that Cohush is perfectly fine, but I restrain myself. I really don't want to come off as overly motherly. I myself am not even very motherly to begin with, but quite vulnerable.

"Alexis Tress with a wonderful six!"

"Yes!" whoops Surtr, leaping up to punch the air. "I knew she'd get a killer score! She rocked in climbing and morningstars. I really can't say that I'm surprised!" It seems too sad if I shook my head at his glee, so I stay sitting stiffly, hands folded under my thighs.

"Nubu Chandlers with a five!"

I shrug. Good for Nubu. An average score, although I expected him to get a six or something to tack onto his name. It's all right, though. He is matching Willa, and Jinx has done enough for the alliance already with that staggering ten. I can only hope to pull my weight.

As Savanna Poppet gets a three, I tilt my head back and relive the high points in my training session. Blending the poisons was a nice addition, as was getting four out of six darts to hit somewhere near the center of the target. The electronic hunting station was done justice as well.

"Nessa Aoki, with the respectable score of a four!"

"She's only fourteen," Surtr ponders out loud. "I think she did reasonably well."

"Bark Umbral coins a five!"

Next is me. My pulse is beating on overtone, my head is dizzy, and my legs are slashing in rapid fits of kicking back and forth. What will I receive for my hard work?

"Annabell Berry receiving a five!"

I slump back in my chair. I did fine. Everybody in our alliance did fine with the exception of sadistic Jinx. Average. We're the most average alliance out there. Even District Eleven has an advantage of being the young underdogs, as is Seven.

"Surtr Kayhiv, the cheeky little guy, has captured a three!"

I notice the crestfallen look on his face first, a dramatic difference from his usual chipper, hyper expression. I immediately throw my arms around the young kid. He's motionless, his face staring in stony disbelief.

"I tried," he squeaks out, "I tried so hard… and all I get is a three?"

I force myself to speak, but it's… it's just so hard. I manage a, "I'm sure you did well," but it sounds more like "Sure, you did well," which made it seem like I didn't believe him at all.

Surtr heaves a huge sigh. "Thanks for at least talking to me, Annabell, but I just want to be alone right now."

He gently pushes my arms away and, with a slump in his step, he trudges away into the confines of his bedroom. Me, I sigh.

**Cohush Nigrum, District Nine**

I got a three. Not bad for my age, I suppose. I didn't really do anything impressive, just mixed up some healing potions and all that crap. Medicinal stuff. I fixed up my leg in an impressive cast, then unraveled it with expertise.

When I told all this to Venial, she had only sighed. "That's all?"

I shrug. "What else can you do? I'm a healer, not miracle worker. Got it?"

Venial purses her lips, pushing a dark lock of hair out of her face. "I guess that you're right," she muses. "If that's what you were born and raised doing… now, if only you'd made yourself an alliance."

"I asked Leaf!" my cheeks grow hot. "At the chariot parade. She was intimidated, though, and just backed away like a scared person."

"How did you approach her?"

I wouldn't really like to tell Venial this. I shrug, averting my eyes to the ground, then to the blazing yellow fire. "You know, just approached her and said hi."

"No, you didn't!" Alexis chimes in. "I myself _saw_ you. You came up to her and Ben and the poor thing looked downright terrified, you dolt."

I glare. "Aren't you just Little Miss Sunshine and Glitter today?" I say sarcastically.

Her eyes flash. "Nothing could break my mood, just nothing!"

I roll my eyes. "I have a feeling you're being sarcastic. I don't do well with sarcasm, little girl."

Alexis looks mildly creeped out. "Little… girl? Dude, I'm like five years older than you. You have no right to call me a 'little girl'."

I'm sorry that I don't have any experience with friends, Alexis. I'm sorry that I've only had imaginary friends and am rather the antisocial one. Scowling at her, I only manage to shrug. "Gee, I'm so NOT sorry."

Venial shakes her head, causing a small tornado of her twisted brunette hanks of hair. "You two need to quit fighting. This is the second-to-last night before the arena. We should be talking strategy, not trash talk."

"Then where is _my_ mentor?" Alexis challenges.

"Roland?"

"The one and only!"

Venial looks somewhat lost. "Well, um, he's actually in his bedroom. I wouldn't go get him, though, he's rather—"

By then, Alexis has already started trotting off to the room, rapping on the door in a jittery, spastic fashion. I hear Roland's anguished, muffled hollers as Alexis opens the door with a frown.

"Roland, get out here already!" she shrieks.

I glance at Venial. "Is he like this every year?" I mutter.

Venial's shoulders sag. She gazes sadly into the fire. "Ever since he won," she mumbled. "There was his district partner that he loved, Hydrangea. She died on just the second day. And his ally… Caty…. Her death was one of the worst…"

I hold up a hand. "Enough. We don't need to get in the gruesome details of how her heart was carved out or whatever. Can we just… talk?"

This year, I'm the boy with a death wish. I don't tell my mentor, this, of course. She'd have a fit. But I've accepted my death. I'd never make it. An antisocial thirteen-year-old with only medicinal skills? Bound to die in the bloodbath. And yes, I do know how desperately Venial wants to bring home another kid as victor.

Alexis and Roland emerge from the hallway, Alexis with her annoyed pursed pink lips and Roland with a head full of tangled brunette hair and wild, feral eyes. He looks at Venial pleadingly.

"Do I really need to be here?"

Venial, for once, looks lost, her eyes darting between him, Alexis, and me. Finally she nods, wordless, and motions for the duo to sit down. Alexis grins triumphantly and plops down on the hearth.

"What do you suggest for my alliance, Roland?"

**Constance von Trapp, District One**

It's extremely late. Brucite and Cashmere went to bed hours ago. Yet still I stay awake, on the loveseat, curled up in Gloss's lap. He makes a joke about some crazy elephant, and I giggle girlishly. Well, I attempt to. Like I've said before, my laugh is more of a cackle or anything.

"So, Connie," Gloss pauses, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously. "Will you miss me in the arena?"

"More than anything in the _world_," I emphasize, peppering his cheeks with kisses. "You're going to be the only thing on my mind."

Gloss chuckles lowly, a smirk creeping up his lips. "Remembering your 'mentor' while you rip out some poor tribute's lungs?"

I wrinkle my nose, stiffening. "Totally ruined the moment," I mumble, but one look at his perfectly sculpted face snaps me back to reality. I can't help it. For Gloss Catch, I'm nothing more than a hopeless romantic.

Wait until I get back home and tell Tempera. She'd throw a party, I bet. She's as much of a Gloss fan as I, but we're so close even when I got something she wanted she was happy for me.

Tempera… I wonder how she and Trancer are holding up.

"You look upset," Gloss observes, tracing the outline of my jaw with his finger. "Something on your mind, Connie?"

I shake my head, sending my perfectly done blond curls askew. "Not really," I murmur, shifting. "Just thinking of my best friend. She'd kill to meet you."

Kill.

The word stirs up an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I shift again, for once uncomfortable in Gloss's arms.

"Speaking of which…" I whisper, leaning into his shoulder, "there's… something I've got to tell you."

"Anything, name it." Gloss looks at me earnestly with those sparkling eyes of his, but for once I won't be seduced. It's important to me that he knows this side of me.

"Well… the day before the Reaping… rather, many days before it, my sister said that she was going to volunteer. Um, her name was Kimberly," I add in quickly, feeling the importance. "Well… the day before the Reaping… she was swimming with her friend, Dazzle Passion Glimmer or something like that."

"Go on," Gloss murmurs, slowly pulling his hand away from my cheek and closer to my hand.

"Well… I tried to talk her out of volunteering. It was my time to shine, after all. You know that, right? How hard I've worked for this?"

Gloss nods, rubbing small circles on my wrist with his rough thumb.

"She said she would not stop her volunteering." Sweat pricks uncomfortably at my skin and I straighten up. Gloss's expression is hard to read, if a bit confused. I press on, unable to stop now. "I got really angry and… well… in a fit of rage, I pushed her onto the concrete floor and stuck a knife in her heart."

Gloss's eyes are humongous in disbelief. "Connie, you wanted this opportunity so much that you killed your own sister?"

I nod, my emotions pressing up upon my throat, making it very hard to talk or even breathe. Somehow I manage a forced, "I wanted it… so, so much…"

Gloss's lips are parted and he glances behind me into the huge picturesque window that shows the beaming tops of Capitol buildings. Even on the first district floor, we're extremely high up.

I remove myself from Gloss's arms, untangle our previously intertwined legs, and stroll over to the same window. I press my hand against the cold glass, listen to the honking cars in the street. I hear my mentor getting up to follow me, and he slumps against the window by my side.

"Why?" is his only question.

This answer comes rather easily. "I was just so freaking determined. I wanted to bring honor to my and my family's name, not my little sister. She outshone me in too many things. That, and… and I wanted to meet _you_."

A ghost of a sad smile crosses Gloss's face, and he pulls me into a warm embrace, which I eagerly accept. I crush myself against his defined torso, rubbing my fingers against the small of his back.

"You know that you're devoted, Connie?" Gloss says softly. "You're probably the most devoted tribute that I've ever mentored. Most definitely you're the one that I want to survive the most, out of all of them. I'll be your number one sponsor. You know that, right?"

I smile, closing my eyes. "I know that now."

**A/N: Holiday by Green Day.**

**Another update, one you can actually review on. Quick note, everybody. If you did NOT review the last chapter, if you had some troubles like most, either PM me the review for that chapter or review as a Guest. Basically, log out and review for that one. Anyways, please do that. I'd love to hear your feedback on everything, as always.**

**Summer break is almost upon me, so I'm guessing there will be more updates in there than ever! Milestone. Three months since this story was published!**

**If you're on WattPad, make sure to check out my newest story "Me and Death". I'm under the same penname. I'm relatively new to the site and I'd love some feedback on that story as well.**

**QUESTION TIMEEEEEE! YAAAA :) REMEMBER TO REVIEW THE OTHER CHAPTER AS A GUEST OR IN A PM!**

**1. What were your thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Any scores that surprised you?**

**3. Interviews are coming up. Any… interview predictions?**

**4. Favorite five characters? Why?**

**5. Least favorite five characters and why?**

**6. Over the three months of this story, how do you think it has developed? *optional question***


	17. Walking on Air

_**She will go and set the world on fire**_

_**No one ever thought she could do that**_

**Lux Sephina, District Five**

Stretching my mouth into a gargantuan yawn, I feel compelled to stay and sleep in. It's tempting, very tempting, considering the fact that this may be my very last day of life. But as Tuesday quietly knocks on the door, I eagerly spring up to greet her.

"Morning!" I chirp, giving her a wide, toothy grin. "I trust you slept well?"

Tuesday blinks. "I was just about you ask you that, Lux," she chuckles. "You read my mind, child!"

Tuesday's very much like a wise grandmother to me. She was the first District Five victor and one of the sanest. Kassidy, too, but she's more bitter and sarcastic than anything else. I always feel calm when talking to my mentor.

I allow Tuesday to lead me into the brightly lit kitchen where Avoxes scramble about, preparing food. The tantalizing smell of pancakes and confectioner's sugar reaches my nose and I inhale deeply, closing my eyes for a better sense. When I open them, I see Tuesday smiling grimly at me.

"Smells wonderful, doesn't it?" she asks me.

"It's like the best thing I've ever smelled, period!" I reply enthusiastically, itching my arm. "Back at home, breakfast usually consisted of an egg or something. This is a real treat."

Behind me, Alister and Kassidy are entering the kitchen, each of them murmuring their approval of the meal. We sit down to eat at the very long, but very empty dining table that's hovering over a platform near the living room.

"Nervous for interviews?" Tuesday questions.

Alister takes this as his question and replies meekly, "I don't know how well I'll do. Kassidy has worked on my angle and everything, but… I freeze up sometimes."

Glaring at him, I reply to Tuesday, "I think I can do pretty good. I think I can work being the underdog to my advantage. Caesar seems pretty friendly."

"And he is," Kassidy cuts in, jabbing with her fork for emphasis, "but for some reason he has terrible breath. Don't get too close, I warn you."

I nod, smiling to thank her. That could be a useful bit of information.

"I'm so nervous," I mutter into my pancake stack. "Tomorrow around this time I'll be preparing for the bloodbath."

Tuesday's smile is uneasy. "Just do your best, Lux, and that's all that will matter. Your allies are trustworthy. I have my complete faith in you."

Any other day I would have accepted her praise with a beam and a hug, but today seems too solemn for that. Instead, I offer up a shaky smile and a nod.

"Thanks, Tuesday. I really needed encouragement today. I'm sure that everybody else is shaky as well."

In all truth, I don't believe that. But if I say it enough times, get Tuesday and Kassidy and Alister to believe it… I just might.

**Coral Fisher, District Four**

Percy blatantly ignores me as we eat in complete silence, and I just hate it. I never meant to dislike Percy, it just slowly came on. He's just so _easy_ to hate.

Finnick, my mentor, attempts to make small chat but even I can tell that it's forced. I know for a fact that he wanted Percy. I could tell, even when mentors were chosen for us.

"_Can we pick who we want?" Annie asked, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. _

_Finnick sighed, running tan fingers through his salty, tousled hair. "I wish we could, Annie, but I think that this year we should go with experience and traits more than who we would like."_

_Annie nodded, her eyes like oranges in width. "That's nice, Finnick. Who are you taking?"_

_Finnick cast his eyes down. "I think Coral could use a little more mentoring than Percy, to be perfectly honest. Are you fine with taking Percy, Annie?"_

_Percy looked somewhat conflicted as Annie nodded, a ghost of a gloomy smile briefly crossing over her face. "I'm fine with that, Finnick."_

_A queasy feeling erupted in my belly. Finnick thought I needed more help. I was the lesser district partner, and it felt terrible._

_Choking down a small cry, I huddled into the loveseat, digging my nails under the cushion. It wasn't always like this. At home, I was depended on because I was a capable teenaged girl, who was logical, calm, and even strong. But here? I was the underdog, and everybody knew it. _

_And I hated it._

I sip some more of my milk, ignoring Finnick's weak attempt at a joke. Finally Percy breaks the awkwardness. With anger evident in his tone, he gruffly says, "Finnick, you're really not making things any better."

Finnick sighs. "I was afraid of that," he mumbles. Turning to me, he says, "So, Coral… want to work on your interviewing strategy some more?"

Visions of training last night run through my head and I shake my head. "You'll just try to mold me into a seductive princess, Finnick, and I really can't be that. Sorry."

Finnick exhales slowly. "I'm sorry if I'm making this hard for you, Coral."

I shake my head, smiling slightly. "You're fine, Finnick, but this is all me. I just sort of… I don't even know. It's hard to explain."

"You don't have to," he responds. "I somehow know exactly how you feel."

I respond with a grateful smile. "That really is helpful, Finnick. Thank you."

"So you'll allow me to coach you some more?" he asks eagerly, clinking his spoon musically against the side of his glass.

I shrug, focusing on my pancakes. "Maybe. Let me think about it?"

Finnick glances over purposefully at his fellow mentor, Annie, who is currently swishing the heck out of some orange juice with a straw. "If I were you, I'd rush your decision."

"Why?"

"Coral, be real. Interviews begin at five, and it is currently nine-fifty-three. You have to make a decision sometime, before it gets too late at the very least. Your prep team needs to prep you, after all."

I bite my lip, silently agreeing with him. He is right, after all. Heaving a sigh, I nod twice and continue with my pancake stack.

Percy, throughout the entire exchange, remains silent.

**Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve**

I really hate it here. I can't even uphold a proper conversation with anybody here, and that alone drives me mad. Annabell is the face of a perfect kid, but she absolutely refuses to talk for reasons I don't know. Haymitch is always out with Chaff or somebody like that, drinking. And our escort, Musica? She's almost always gone.

So most of the time, I'm completely alone. Just me and my thoughts.

And I hate it.

Boredly, I attempt striking up a conversation with the Avoxes who are cleaning up after breakfast. There's a bald guy who is clearing the table, a woman with red ringlets that's putting food away, and a younger teenaged girl with piercing blue eyes that's sweeping. Each of them have the most melancholy expression on their faces.

"How are you guys doing today?" I ask, sliding into a dining chair. All three smile at me, but each grin is forced.

"Good… good… All happy, I'm guessing?" More smiles. Wonderful.

"I can't really talk to anybody here," I complain, tilting my chair back and keeping my feet planted underneath the table, therefore maintaining perfect balance. "They're all so… so… quiet, absent, or snotty."

The bald guy resumes stacking plates, while the two women nod sympathetically. The blond one with blue eyes hesitates before placing her arm on my shoulder and patting it. The small gesture makes me recoil in fear.

She immediately jumps back, blushing profusely and ashamed. I cup my shoulder in both hands protectively, heart thumping ten times faster than ever. I examine my shoulder—I don't think any damage was done— but just to be on the safe side, I dart to the living room and snatch up a blanket. I wrap myself in the soft cloth, resembling a taco.

Holding my pride in both hands, I stomp noisily back into the kitchen, my eyes small circles of complete fear. The blond teenager looks frightened and she avoids my gaze, instead sweeping energetically. Small clouds of dust erupt near her feet.

I retake my spot on the chair, but the chair itself feels different to me, like it's just cold metal now instead of a comfy sitting spot like it once was. Biting my lip, I adjust myself silently.

"Sorry about that," I speak up gruffly, my voice masked by ultimate disbelief. "You just…. Never mind. It's not you, it's me. I've never reacted very well to touch…. So…. Sorry."

The girl looks even more terrorized and holds up her hands to imply that it's all her fault, and her fault alone.

I try to turn this whole thing around and shoot her a wide beam.

She responds likewise, but more tentatively.

"Why can't you just be happy for once?" I ask, still grinning pleasantly. "The world appears to be a much better place once you just wear a smile. Hey, it's the best thing you can wear, after all!"

The Avox looks at me dryly, her right eye twitching just a little. Her expression obviously implies that she thinks I am the biggest nincompoop to walk the earth.

My smile's faded. With one despairing look, I trudge, hands clutching the soft blanket, down the hall to my dark, dark room.

**Nubu Chandlers, District Ten**

"Remember, Nubu, the key to confidence lies within your own soul."

I squint at Eagle, who confidently takes a bite out of her jelly donut. "And that's supposed to help me… how?"

She coughs, barely muffling the word "Obviously." I frown, brow thickening as I shake my head. "You're my mentor, Eagle…. Sorry, I just thought you were supposed to help me. God."

Eagle raises her dark eyebrows aloofly, making me feel smaller than she. "And you're my tribute. You're supposed to stay hushed and listen to me."

I smile toothily up at her, my mind taking control of my mouth again. "And you…. you don't really mean that, mm? You just need brownie points so you can stop mentoring… yeah, that's it…"

There it goes. Honestly, it's like I have no control over what I say or do anymore. Getting a five in training, I don't even remember what I did. My sane mind sort of sat back and let this new monster consume me. It's been doing that a lot lately.

Eagle rolls her eyes. "Nubu, you're really not the same person you were when I first met you," she says. "Have you felt the need to create a shell to protect yourself or something?"

The me that is not me raises his eyebrows, cocks an imaginary finger gun at her. "Right on… except not really."

"Nubu, you're confusing me."

"That makes two of us."

Eagle scowls. "I'd really appreciate if you just stopped all this nonsense and had a real chat with me. Interviews are very important, and I'm positive that Jamie and Savanna are getting more done than us!"

"Yeah, but those two are the cool kids. Of course they'd finish quicker. Everybody likes them better."

Eagle closes her eyes to inhale sharply. "Nubu, you're making this more difficult than it needs to be."

"I would like for you to stop lecturing me."

Eagle opens one eye, and it's pleading with me. But I'm relentless. "I've done nothing but try to get my butt out of here, and nothing's worked. I went and got myself some good allies, just like you said, but honest to God, Eagle, I think that I'm going to die before I even go into the frigging arena. I don't even know! It's like something's controlling me but I don't know what, and, and… and it's scaring me."

Eagle's eyes are now filled with pity, but I hate that. "I don't want your pity or your sad looks," I say shakily, standing up from my chair, "I don't want your nothing! I just want to be home!"

Looking at my confused mentor for one last time, I dart into the elevator, smash the button that will take me to the roof, and shakily slide down onto the cool marble floor.

Shake. Shake. Shake. All my body does is shake in terror, and I hate it.

The doors open to the glorious garden that lies on the roof, but I don't take one moment to look at its beauty. With a sharp intake of crisp morning air and one last look around the country of Panem, I stand up on a chair near the roof's ledge and jump.

Something pulls me back.

There's a force field surrounding the roof, and it reflects my jump and sends me sprawling back onto the ground. My suicide mission is no more. There is no way I can commit suicide in this place. Even Avoxes have control of the knives, and… and…

And I cry. I cry because I'm unstable, because I'm scared, because I just can't die.

**Jinx Tesatsu, District Six**

"So, say I'm Caesar."

I look at Gingham, her eyes so full of hope and sincerity as she stands up, puffing her chest out to assume the role of my interviewer.

"Sure. You're a wrinkled old man who's bound to die soon. This roleplay is _fun_, isn't it?" I smirk.

Gingham wrinkles her pale nose. "I am in no need of your snark today, Jinx. I'm trying to help you out, here. Hear me out."

"I have been," I reply casually, closing my eyes. "I've been listening to you jabber on for the past hour about all these strategies I'll need to know." I clench my fists, my sharp nails digging into my palms, reminding me that I'm alive.

Gingham sighs. "All right, so I'm a wrinkled old man. I welcome you to the stage. What do you do?"

I exhale in a puff of carbon dioxide, smirking again. "I rip the guy's throat out."

"No, no, no, no, no!" Gingham wails dramatically, flinging herself onto the chair. "Be real, Jinx! Caesar welcomes you to all of Panem, so what do you _say_?"

I sigh, shaking my head. Might as well humor the woman. "I say, _'Thank you, Caesar, for this wonderful opportunity'_ and I act like a complete kiss-up and I make a fool out of myself. Does that sound better?"

Gingham purses her lips, smacking them together to create a sticky mess of purplish lipstick. "It is better, but I'm afraid your attitude will have to go. You want to make something nice and pleasant out of yourself, Jinx, not undesirable."

"Look at me," I huff. "I _am_ undesirable. I'm the _face_ of undesirable. Look at my claws, even." I offer up my long talons, showing her the jagged edges. "D'you really think that Caesar would want to shake my hands once he sees these babies?"

My mentor shakes her head, twirling her bright blue ringlets on her fingers like she's pondering something really big. It disgusts me. She reminds me enough of the prep team already.

"Next question," she muses quietly. "Jinx Tesatsu, what is your life like at home?"

I swear at her.

"No, no…." Gingham places her chin in her hands. "Why must you be so difficult?"

"Fine, Gingham —I mean Caesar— you really want to know what my life was like back in District Six?" My smile is forced and feels foreign, but I keep grinning.

"I was a sadist. A frigging person who went around and cut people up, just enough to hurt them but not to kill them. I'm sure you heard about the District Six sadist unless you spent too much time in the Capitol to care. Happy now?" I end my small rant with a smile that's laced with poison. "I'm sure you'd love to hear in-depth stories about this one girl. Carly. Hmm?"

Gingham looks like she is in complete shock. I don't mind. I was going for that. But I see it as if I get out, I'm too rich and loved to be thrown into prison. If I lose? Hell, nobody's going to arrest a corpse.

"Jinx, that person was you?" she asks, her face completely chalk white.

"I just admitted it, didn't I?"

Leaving my stunned mentor behind, I flounce off to my room, making sure to giggle devilishly as I went.

**Arthur Augustus, District Three**

Because Alessandra and I each had special skills we needed to touch up on, Wiress and Beetee decided to train us for interviews together instead of the one-on-one mentor-to-tribute thing. Needless to say, I hated this, as did my wonderful partner Alessandra.

"What will you say when Caesar welcomes you to the stage?" Beetee asks, his brown eyes swimming in kindness.

I smile back. Easy. "I'll give him the biggest hug of his life and thank him!"

"Oh, come ON!"

I whip around to see grouchy Alessandra, who's reclining in a cream-colored chair. "You really don't mean that, do you? Giving that old thing a hug?"

I frown slightly, my smile slipping straight off my face. "Yes, I mean that. He's a cheery man, why shouldn't I? He always seemed nice, Alessandra."

She rolls her eyes, her hands busy at work with braiding her thick blond hair. "He's the executioner, basically. The last Capitolite you'll talk to before certain death! Is that really how you want to be remembered, Arthur? As the kid who _hugged_ Caesar Flickerman?!"

I ponder this for a moment, then quickly give her a cheesy grin. "Yes, yes I do."

"What about you, Alessandra?" croaks Wiress. "Caesar welcomes you, and…"

"And what do you do?" Beetee finishes for his fellow mentor, who nods at him gratefully.

Alessandra quirks a side of her mouth up into a sly smile. "I take my seat after saying thank you."

I feel like she's challenging me somehow, but I really don't know how, and this frightens me. I mimic her girlish tone, hollering, "Come ON!" but it feels absurd. The look she gives me is enough to kill a small animal.

"What do you mean by that?" she asks quietly, snapping a hair elastic on the braid.

I shrug, pushing up the sleeves of my thick navy sweater. "You said 'come on' for me. It's only fair, you know," I add agreeably.

Beetee stifles a laugh. "He is right, Alessandra. You've been acting a bit… well… testy, as of late."

"Testy?" Alessandra bellows, hopping up from her chair.

"Oh, God, it's the emotional rollercoaster again!" I moan, sinking into the plush loveseat. "Here she blows!"

"I am not TESTY," hisses Alessandra, her eyes narrowed into bright blue slits, "but I am upset. Who wouldn't be? I'm against all odds, you idiot! Fifteen years old against trained murderers, and I'm supposed to keep a stupid little smile on my face all the time like perfect little Arthur?"

Wiress looks pained.

"I'm not saying that you have to be cheerful about it," Beetee says gravely, "but I'd appreciate it, and I think I speak for all three of us when I say this, but I'd love if you kept the emotions under wraps."

"Yeah, like that outburst!" I chirp. "For scores! You made me feel sad when you said you did not care about Caesar."

A vivid memory of last night comes flashing back into my mind, and I shudder. I really dislike Alessandra, I just can't help it. I want to like her, yes I do, but she makes it so hard. She's not friendly at all.

She's not like Celinia at _all_, albeit she reminds me a bit of her. Outspoken, spunky, really tall…. The appearance is off, but who cares? If Alessandra was friendlier and more gung ho, I'm positive that Alister and I would have invited her into our alliance.

While Alessandra and Beetee bicker over her outbursts, I silently slip away into the kitchen. An Avox greets me with a welcoming smile. She's scrubbing the breakfast dishes. Another one is mopping the floor— I accidentally spilled syrup on the ground today.

"Hi," I tell them, hopping up on the freshly wiped marble counter. They each nod curtly at me, then resume their jobs busily.

"Does it bother you guys that you can't talk?"

The blond one, the one that is mopping, looks at me questioningly, and then shrugs. The lady with dull, lank hair and striking grey eyes glances over at me, her mouth in a thin line.

I try again. "You could nod or shake your head, you know. Or wait… Did they remove your head functions, too?"

In unison, they smack their palms against their foreheads.

**Brucite Gergeon, District One**

"I'd say that my family was—" _smack, smack_. "—um, a huge part of my—" _smack, smack, smack._ "—and, you know, they, um, helped me grow and all that—" _smack, smack,_ _smeeeerch_.

"Would you two stop it?" Cashmere hollers at Gloss and Constance, exasperated.

Constance looks up, bewildered.

"It's horrendous enough to know that my brother's kissing a tribute who's what, six years younger than him? It's absolute torture to watch him repeatedly!" Cashmere embellishes, her face haunted with disgust.

"It really is disgusting," I add. "Simply grody."

My blond district partner glares, swinging her legs off of Gloss's lap. "Well, I am sorry if you can't handle true love," she sniffs.

"It's not that, it's—"

"Save it," she huffs, turning back to her precious lover boy, then resumes her make-out session.

I turn to Cashmere, who shrugs. "Shall we go to the kitchen?"

I nod my okay. "Suddenly I'm feeling hungry…"

I grab a snack once Cashmere and I make our way inside the kitchen—a random, small loaf of bleached white bread. Bread from home. It's familiar to me. Taking small nibbles, I listen intently as Cashmere instructs me on angles.

"Everybody has one," she says. "Mine, for instance, was beautiful and somewhat naïve." She rolls her eyes to demonstrate how silly that was. "But seriously. You said you wanted to be the man that everybody feared?"

"I thought I had made that clear."

Cashmere purses her lips, raising her heavily made-up eyes to the ceiling. "Just know, Bruce, that you can't determine whether the other tributes will be afraid of you or not. Just saying."

I shake my head a few times. "You don't understand the looks they give me, Cash. Before private training sessions, as I was opening the door… I looked at the District Ten girl, Savanna or something like that, and just… I glared at her, man, and she looked downright terrified."

Cashmere scowls blackly, her rather pretty expression immediately turning sour. "Don't be so cocky, Brucite," she says softly. "I know it's what we Careers are made of, cockiness, but… it doesn't help anything."

"How, then?" I retort. "How did so many Careers make it to the finale? All they've done is be arrogant and all that, and guess what? They've come closer to home than anybody else."

My mentor tucks her flowy lavender and silver sleeve into a neat little fold a few times— a nervous habit? – before she says anything. "Fine. I thought maybe this year we had a chance of having a District One victor, but I guess I was just wrong. I guess you can't take the pressure, Brucite. You're just going to _crack_ like everybody else. Like Opaque, like Taffeta, and like _Velour_, the worst of them all. I really thought you weren't, but it's now clear to me that you're nothing but a typical fool who volunteers for glory and honor and nothing else. No real reasons. And you know what, Brucite?" She's breathing hard, her jaw clenched and her brilliant eyes narrowed into sky blue slits. "You know what? You are going to die like the rest of them, too. You'll die nothing but a fool who lost his wits. Typical, Brucite, _typical_!"

Her insults sting, rubbing salt into a fresh wound that hasn't been opened for so long. It's maddening for a guy who's been training his entire life just for this one opportunity, to prove to the world that he is not just the same old idiot from One that everybody else is. I wanted to prove that I wasn't just cocky but a survivor. Aloofness came with age. And I refuse to be described by that one idiotic word. "_Typical_."

**Nessa Aoki, District Eleven**

"Would you like to take a break, Nessa?"

I shrug, smiling shyly. "It's okay, Seeder. We can continue with strategies, if you'd like."

Seeder throws up her hands, but she's not upset, she's just a bit flustered. "Nessa, I have told you everything I personally know about interviewing personalities. If you'd like to know more, I suggest going to Chaff? Although I think he's working with your district partner, come to think of it."

"Oh, that's fine," I reassure her, nodding rapidly. "I'll just stay here. What more do I need to know on interviews? Any helpful public speaking tips?"

"I suggest not to foul-mouth anybody," she says. "That places an immediate target on your back, especially with the Careers. Criticize one, the entire pack stalks you."

I chuckle softly. "No worries with me criticizing those people, Seeder."

Seeder responds with a small, lilting laugh as well. "All right, I suppose you're right in that aspect. You're just too clever, Ness!" She rubs my arm encouragingly. "Would you like to do some roleplay-ing, then? Me being Caesar, you as yourself?"

"Um, okay," I nod.

"Alright." Seeder adjusts herself, folding the afghan tighter around her frail body. She clears her throat. "Nessa Aoki, everyone!"

I skid over to the doorway and pretend to enter, waving gracefully and smiling. It's like playing pretend, and I can't help but think of nothing but my childhood. Joshua and me and some of the other neighborhood kids, just palling around with silly games like this. The thought brings the hugest smile to my face.

"How's life going, Nessa?" Seeder asks in a strangely manlike voice. She sure can make her tone go deep. Still wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, I reply with a "very good!"

"That's nice to hear!" she counters, nodding approvingly. "Do you think you can win the Hunger Games, young Nessa?"

"Young Nessa?" I ask, snickering. Seeder raises her eyebrows, lips set in a grim, thin line. Sighing, I say, "I don't think so, Caesar."

"Why not?"

The simple question draws a blank for me and I sit numbly on the chair, spine rigid and fingers drawing fidgety circles on my comfortable Capitol-issued pants. "Well… you know… I'm one of the youngest. In an arena with multiple others, I strongly doubt that I'd be a reasonable victor."

Seeder looks conflicted as to whether she should stay in character, huffing and making a deal about this, or doing the motherly thing and hugging me, or staying a strict mentor and correcting my attitude. With an unsure smile, she chooses to stay like Caesar and awkwardly begins, "Well, I definitely hope you're wrong."

"Thanks."

Seeder stares at the floor for a moment before breaking out of character and coughing out, "I've never done well with roleplay, Ness, and I apologize."

"That's fine," I answer. "I'm sure that I'll be able to come up with ample answers on stage. I don't freeze up easily."

And why should I freeze up? Excusing myself for a bite of lunch, I settle into a dining room chair to join Bark and Chaff, pondering this. I have a trustworthy ally. I have the gift of charm, which could be used to draw in sponsors, however slimy that sounds. I possibly have the strength to be overlooked for more fierce competitors. What have I to lose?

I take a bite out of a shining red apple, the sound of a splintering rind echoing eerily throughout the room. The sweet taste reminds me of home.

Oh, I'm such a homebody.

I rest my hand on my chin, ignoring Chaff's attempts at conversation. I feel so cold. I just want to be home, that's all. I wouldn't even mind if my mother ignored me like always. I'd just go to my best friend. I'd help my little sister with her schoolwork. I'd… I'd do anything. I'd be a model citizen if that was my calling. I don't think my calling was to be in the Games at all.

A tear somehow makes its way past the defenses of my long eyelashes, but I swipe at it before it has a chance to even start to trickle past my cheek. Nobody noticed. Wonderful.

I can only hope that I can ace my interview tonight. If I have that advantage riding on me, why should I count myself out?

**Serafina Aegis, District Two**

"Rehearse this one more time, just for the heck of it."

I refrain form glaring at Enobaria, instead opting to take a deep breath and reply, "Enobaria, we have gone over this multiple times. Once more isn't going to make any difference."

"Pardon me for caring about your well-being," my mentor huffs. "All I want you to achieve is a splendid interview, but you're pushing me away."

I fold my hand tighter around my snowflake charm, the spokes digging into my fingers. "Can I see how Slate's coming along? Then I'll be more motivated. Promise."

Enobaria rolls her eyes, but complies after a moment. "Fine. Follow me."

I trail after her off of the balcony into the kitchen, where Slate's pushing some cold vegetables onto his plate as he rehearses with Brutus. Enobaria looks hopefully at me. "You wouldn't mind stopping for lunch, would you?"

"I would indeed mind," I say stiffly. "Grab an orange if you're so hungry."

Enobaria rolls her deep brown eyes and snatches up a slice of reddish pie. "Brutus, Slate, our dear Serafina would like to see how your progress is coming along."

"We were done an hour ago," Brutus tells us coolly, scarfing down some orange soup, "but I'm next to positive that Slate would be willing to show you how he's doing."

Slate grumbles, but the glee in his eyes tells otherwise. "Fine. Brutus, will you begin?"

Brutus nods. "Okay, say I'm Caesar, right? Right. Slate Bessarion, come on out!"

Slate nods, pantomiming like he's walking. "_Hello_, Caesar."

Brutus blanks out for a moment, thinking hard about a clever response. "Looking fine, and that hair is so _enchanting_!"

"Yeah, Caesar would definitely say that," I deadpan.

"Shut up, Fina," Slate mumbles. To Brutus, he says cheerily, "Thanks, Caesar! You're looking fine yourself!"

"Why should a compliment sway your opinion on a guy?" I ask bluntly, snarky, raising my nose.

"Serafina, it would be much appreciated if you kept quiet!" Slate snaps, grabbing a hunk of mashed potatoes and slamming them on the table, rage burning in his eyes. "Honestly, you're so frigging annoying. You tell us nothing about your past, you act so cool and aloof, and now this? You're making fun of my interview?"

Enobaria and Brutus look at me condescendingly, and that's the last straw. "Slate, I never needed to put up with you," I reply smoothly, fingernails clenching my snowflake token. "The ones to beat were others in the alliance. I'm sure that tomorrow, you'll see that."

Slate sits, fuming, his silky black hair masking an inferior look. "Excuse me," he seethes, his knuckles visibly quivering as he clutches his own token, a metallic pendant. "I didn't realize that little miss ice queen had an attitude."

I smile coldly, eyes blazing as they stare at him. "Slate, there's a trillion things that you don't know about me."

I don't care to bicker any more, so I nimbly slide out of the room, leaving my district partner to yell after me that I was nothing, nothing but a coward and annoying. Silly boy. I'll show him annoying.

I quietly shut the door of my bedroom, locking it, and recline on my lush bed. The blankets, so silky, wrap around me like tendrils of nothing but air. All this luxury reminds me of home. Dad always wanted this for his kids, and of course my brother got luxury. Bellona and me, we were the lesser ones. When he went off to become a Peacekeeper, that was when my father turned his attention to us.

All my life I've been a second choice. Sometime soon, I desperately hope that changes.

I clutch the blankets as I toss and turn, attempting a nap. But each time my eyes begin to drift off, the spokes from my snowflake jut into my skin and wake me up.

The snowflake resembles my father, in a way…

**Alexis Tress, District Nine**

"Lex!"

I blink, glancing over at Roland and Venial and Cohush. Venial's frantically beckoning me with her pale, long fingers. Roland is wincing as he adjusts an ice pack on his forehead. Cohush, the grump, is staring sullenly at his feet.

For this district, these people resemble us perfectly.

Then there's me. I stifle a laugh as I plop onto the sofa. The face of cheeriness, while interiorly I'm as broken as everybody else. I can just mask it better, that's all.

"Wouldn't you like to see _your_ ranking, Cohush?" Venial encourages the small boy, her lips stretched into an overly exaggerated smile. "Let's see where your cuteness has gotten you!"

"Rock bottom?" he asks bitterly.

"We'll just have to wait and see!" Venial exclaims happily.

It pains me, sometimes, how naïve Venial is. How chipper, how blatant, how black and white she is. She's in her forties, isn't she? She should learn to mask her emotions better.

The television screen flickers on with a slight buzz, and with a few clicks of the remote the ranking screen is pulled up in front of us. The Careers are all at the top, as expected, but there's a few that are blended in with them. Jinx Tesatsu sticks out in my mind, as does Alister Rain. I search for my familiar name, finding it closer to the bottom. Sixteenth isn't that bad… is it?

But it's Cohush who everybody's paying attention to. His cheeks streaked with silent, brackish tears, he stares bitterly at his name, above only one other.

"I'm even behind Camo Russo, and he got a one," Cohush sniffles.

My mouth is suddenly watery, as it always gets when I am sympathetic or when my heart is aching. I guess I really do care for Cohush. But I shouldn't. I shouldn't. He's not my ally. He's shown nothing but black disregard for me ever since the Reaping. And yet, here I am feeling sorry for the thirteen-year-old.

"I'm sure you'll do better next time, Cohush," I encourage, but his face only droops more.

"It's a freaking death match, Alexis, and I'm not even going to make it past the stupid bloodbath. You think there will be a next time? For real?" Cohush coughs, his entire, tiny body wracking with the effort of forcing air out his lungs. "This is so stupid. Why didn't somebody else get Reaped in my place?"

"Tough luck, kid," Roland spits sourly, his face puckered in something that may or may not be pity.

Venial, who's been pretty quiet and melancholy, brightens up a little. "Well, we'll have to make them love you at interview time, then," she says to Cohush. "Come, come, let's practice some more."

I sneak a peek at my own mentor, who's currently attempting to nap. With a slight shake, Venial forces him out of his sleepy state and directs him to me.

"Hurry, Roland. There's just a couple hours, and Alexis has told me that you've done nothing but moan about how much she reminds you of somebody."

"It's the truth," mutters Roland.

Venial presses her lips tightly together, and without another word she's off to the balcony with Cohush.

I look at Roland, who's sorrowfully shifting his ice pack from his forehead to the crown of his head. "You heard the woman," I tell him, surprised by my own boldness. "Help me out."

"You want help?" the guy laughs creakily. "Tell Caesar your secrets and emotions. That's all he lives for. Once you got a dark secret out there, your ranking goes up."

"How do you know?"

"Worked for me." Roland shrugs. "Want to see my interview?"

I nod a few times and he gets up to find his Games' disk in the expansive bookcase. Now we're talking.

As the screen comes to life with color and sound, I relax in my chair, albeit a bit uneasily. For some reason I'm nervous of how my interview will go. Nerves, no doubt. If I ace it, I'll go up in the rankings, earning sponsors and all that. But say that I don't. Say that my knees knock and I stutter and my interview turns to rubbish. I'll go down further. I might not make it past the bloodbath, even, I might die before I know what hit me.

I'm just so scared.

**Camo Russo, District Eight**

Cecelia exhales, her eyes shut to demonstrate inner peace.

"This is stupid," I mumble, half to myself and half to the woman who sits before me. "I doubt that Caesar will ask me what my spirit animal is."

Cecelia glares, her brows thickening threateningly as she speaks. "Caesar is a very religious man, Camo. You never know. Actually, a couple years back, he and I were yoga buddies."

"Are you serious?"

"Serious as one can be," she replies, very straight-faced. "I wouldn't lie to you, now would I?"

"Guess not," I mumble, "but…. Yoga buddies? What the heck?..."

"It's a very popular Panem pastime," she corrects me condescendingly. Her motherly side kicks in as her eyelids snap open to observe me. "I am sorry, Camo, I really don't know why I'm losing my temper. Happens every year around this time, just before the Games, and I really hate that there's nothing I can do about it."

"It's fine." I brush her words off. "I don't care."

She sighs heavily, shoulders sagging slightly. "That's reassuring to know. Anyways… I'll stop this yoga spiritual nonsense and try to help you before—"

A knock at the door stops her and she shakes her head, tendrils of limp hair flying askew. "That must be your and Willa's prep teams. I knew they'd come around this time." 

She pulls at the heavy elevator doorknob (put there to discourage other tributes from breaking and entering my floor) and the door opens, revealing six vividly colorful, slightly youthful Panem stylists. Three emerge from the group— Amera, Taffeta, and Wildron.

"Camoooo!" coos Taffeta, flipping bright yellow corkscrews over her shoulder. Her neon yellow lips curve into a smirk. "It's been so long, buddy. Two days, max, but it's still interesting to see how you've changed!"

I blink, glancing down at my limber form. Have I changed? "What do you mean?"

Wildron giggles, his not-at-all manly tone erupting into short bouts of birdlike laughter. "The beard, sweetheart, it's coming!"

"I don't have a beard?" I reach my hand up to my face and itch awkwardly at my smooth cheeks. "You're mistaken, Wildron."

Wildron rolls his eyes and Amera butts in, her shiny white tendrils of silky hair sweeping in front of her eyes. With a swift motion, she flips them over her head, which promptly tilts to observe me curiously. "No lip from _you_, Camo. We know the orders that Snow gave us, and we're not gonna fail him."

"Orders?" Cecelia interrupts, her tone strained. "What orders? As a mentor, I feel that I should know something about this?"

Amera freezes, her pale green eyes eyeing up my mentor suspiciously. With a snap of yellow gum, she giggles like a nervous child and twirls a thin lock of hair on her fingertip. "Oh, ya know, just orders to primp him a certain way and all that," she says breezily, dismissively.

"Ah," Cecelia accepts this with a brief nod. "I remember that. He had my hair cut. I don't even know the reason any more." She gives me a quick hug and out I go, my prep team tripping gaily behind me. Amera flips her excessively long white hair, Wildron sighs contentedly, and Taffeta ruffles her neon pink skirt, listening to the faint crackles of the material that she was named for.

Me, I slump gloomily.

What orders could President Snow possibly have given my prep team? I'm already in hot water with the man. I truly don't want any more trouble with the big cheese. Just leave me alone. I've learned my lesson. I mean, look at me. For years I've pretended to be some weakling called Camo, when in truth I'm a strong, brutal man named Atticus. Atticus wouldn't take any crap from Snow, he'd beat him down.

He even botched my score. I threw a couple axes perfectly into the targets. Yet I got a one. Willa, she frigging fell off the gauntlet and got a five. That just goes to show the standards that the Capitol has.

Popping a thin bubble of gum, I scrape it dejectedly off of my cheeks.

**Ben McMhon, District Seven**

"Without those shaggy bangs hanging over your eyes, you look really, really cute!" squeals Deimos, his own mauve hair flopping over his peepers.

I stay silent and sullen. They had no right to chop off my hair! Without the safe shield of it, I feel somewhat homeless. It's stupid, I know, for a boy to wish his hair back on his head. But I don't even care. It's my hair. I… I miss it. It's been with me this entire way, from the fateful Reaping through just an hour ago, where I survived a pep talk from Johanna Mason about interview strategies.

As if she's reading my mind, Lime asks me, "So, Ben! What did your wonderful mentor teach you?"

I glance at the silver-skinned woman out of the corner of my eye. "Said that my angle should be little, cute, and chipper."

"Really?" chimes in Justify. "That sounds like a lot to handle for such a little guy!"

"I'm not little," I'm quick to interrupt. "I'm twelve years old."

But even as I say it, before the pitying stares of Justify, Deimos, and Lime, I know that I truly am little. I'm littler than everybody else here. I really don't stand a chance. The littlest tribute, with no alliance whatsoever. It really kills me to understand that. My best bet would be if the arena is tree-related, say…. A redwood forest. There's lots of hiding holes in redwoods. Maybe weeping willows…

"Ben?"

I blink, snapping out of my loopy fantasy. Smiling up at Lime, I ask what's wrong.

"Oh, nothing's wrong. We're totally fine. But you seemed like you were drifting off to sleep." Lime shakes her head. "You really don't want to be tired before interviews, Ben. You should have taken a nap or something beforehand. You can't now, you'd muss up your new haircut and your beautiful outfit."

"Gee, I'm so sorry," I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm. "That wouldn't be a picnic at all, would it?"

"Oh, no!" Lime replies enthusiastically. "Glad you understand, Ben."

"If you're feeling drowsy, _lay off the hooch_," Deimos tells me suspiciously. "You must be a-drinking, you. Stumbling around all the time, eyes glazed over… Drunken as a duck!"

I look at the man incredulously. "Is that what you think is happening to me? Everything is going bad because I'm…. _drunk_?"

Deimos nods solemnly.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" I crow, hopping out of the chair and away from Lime's flabby arms and Justify's pointy nails. "I'm the youngest one here! I seriously doubt anybody would be dumb enough to slip me some… some 'hooch', anyways. Is that what you call it? Hooch?"

"Yes," Deimos says arrogantly, sticking his long nose into the air.

Snickering, I shake my head. "Hilarious, you are. But if you'll pardon moi, I really must go. My stylist awaits." Sneaking one last glance at my colorful, idiotic prep team, I flounce out the door on the balls of my feet.

"How the heck did they get jobs in the Capitol if they're dumber than birds?!"

**A/N: Walking on Air by Kerli.**

**This chapter was a bit tough to crank out, but hey, now we're done. Wahoo. ^-^ Finals killed me, but I graduated to the next year and **_**boom**_**. Next year's gonna be tougher than ever. Am I right *catcalls everywhere*. Take my profile poll for your favorite trib? :D That was random…**

**Anyhoo….. Only a couple more chapters left till the arena. I think that you get to see most of a character's development through interviews, so I'm doing each tributes' specifically! :) As a gift to my loyal, royal readers, of course.**

**The blog for this is ashotinthedark . blogspot . com – take out the spaces, as always.**

**QUESTION TIMEEEEE! YAAAAS :)**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Which song excerpt(s) have been your favorite and why?**

**3. Pick five that you'd want to survive the bloodbath.**

**4. Pick five that you think will go down in the bloodbath.**

**5. Pick five that you WANT to go down in the bloodbath.**


	18. Hall of Fame Pt One

_**You could go the distance, you could run the mile,**_

_**You could walk straight through hell with a smile.**_

**Constance von Trapp, District One**

"Nervous, Constance? I see you're shaking."

I tuck a lock of buttery blond hair behind my ear, silently fuming. Brucite's right there, his punchable face smirking with pride and happiness. Absolutely glowing.

I inhale deeply, eyes locked on his eerie navy ones, then silently turn back to facing the stage. "I'm doing just fine, Bruce. I'd really appreciate if you didn't joke around with me right now. I need to think of what Gloss told me."

"Gloss told you nothing!" Brucite retorted. "He couldn't have said anything! Your lips were locked the entire time!"

I blanche. "Was it that noticeable?" I ask meekly, quietly.

"Um, YES-"

"Let's hear it for Constance von Trapp, everybody! The girl who has stolen our hearts!"

With one hand planted firmly on his muscular chest, I push Bruce back into Serafina, fluff my hair once more, and, my heart in my throat, stride out to Caesar Flickerman, my pillowy lips stretched into an expansive grin.

"Hi, Caesar!" I greet him warmly with a hug. His upbeat turquoise tuxedo feels scratchy. With a slight cough, I sit down in the chair, crossing my ankles once I'm down.

"Constance!" is all he can say for a moment, his eyes flickering greedily over my metallic grey-black dress. Disgusting. He's like, fifty, and he's eyeballing the first tribute up. Wonderful. The thought puts a small smirk to my face in place of the grin. No, no, this is bad. I need something to make me smile normally again. Where's Gloss?

"Constance, I must say, you've truly ensnared the heart of everybody in Panem." Caesar jokingly places a hand to his chest. "Your training score wasn't too shabby, and you're always giving us that signature smile!" He mimics my expression, head tilted to the side and eyes slightly widened.

I force a creaky laugh, hoping to God that it doesn't sound like a cackle. "I like to think that I've captured my very essence in that smile."

Caesar grins back at me. "Now, Constance, we've had many beautiful girls over the years, but this year we seem to clearly outdone ourselves. Obviously, Cashmere has been showing you the ropes?"

I blush slightly. "Actually, Cashmere is Brucite's mentor. Gloss is mentoring me."

"Ah, the other half of the set of Panem's most loved siblings. Tell me, how is Gloss treating you, Constance?"

A funny feeling comes up in my belly, something that only comes up when I'm feeling emotional. That doesn't happen very often. "H-He's doing great," I stutter, therefore setting tension throughout the room. "Just wonderful. I know a lot of things now, thanks to him. I mean, he is the best and… and _yeah_." I end awkwardly, but hopefully my glazed eyes make up for that.

"Wonderful," Caesar beams, transitioning over to the next subject. "Constance, tell me about your home life! How is ol' District One, eh? Going to bring them home another victor this year?"

"I definitely am!" I say enthusiastically. "I've trained so hard, so long. It's like, in my destiny to become victor, Caesar, and I'm going to do everything in my power to achieve that goal. Ever since I was a little toddler, I've wanted to win. It's really becoming a reality!"

"That's wonderful! How does your family feel about your volunteering, Constance?"

"They were all gung ho about it, too. Especially my mother. Her family's had this long history of volunteering, but… but never getting to become victor." My eyes blaze determinedly. "I'm going to break that chain, this year."

Caesar tilts his head, somewhat mocking me, but I don't even care anymore. He's just a wannabe. "You say family… Are there any significant others in your life?"

Immediately, Gloss's headshot pops up in my mind. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones, his dreamy eyes, everything…. I exhale, eyes locking with his in the crowd before I look away quickly. "There is, indeed."

"Constance, my dear," Caesar immediately cries out, "tell me who's the lucky young man, won't you? All of Panem is dying to know!"

"Oh, Caesar, I don't think he thinks of himself as lucky… as he is an arrogant _fool_," I emphasize, giggling a bit, "but he is _my_ arrogant fool." My eyes fall upon Gloss's shining ones and this time, I don't look away.

"Any man would be lucky to win your love, Constance," Caesar says somewhat dreamily. I laugh, nodding quickly. My blond curls tumble energetically out of the thin silver tiara I wear, but it doesn't matter. The buzzer rings and, just like that, my interview is over.

**Brucite Gergeon, District One**

"I aced it," Constance tells me smugly as she flounces off the stage, her skintight black dress creating a swishing noise as she saunters past me. I exhale, rolling my eyes. That girl's just a bit too smart for her own good, in my opinion.

Caesar announces my name proudly. I sneak a glance at Serafina and Slate before tucking the sleeves of my bottle green tux in a bit. I shouldn't be nervous. I'm a star.

"Hello, Caesar!" I greet him warmly, my face split in a wide beam. Caesar responds likewise, with a hearty handshake and a slap on the back. He motions for me to sit on the plush chair, which I eagerly do. It's still warm, a result of Constance.

"Bruce! I must say, you killed us all when you got that ten." He raises an eyebrow. "Care to comment on that? What things did you show off in the private session, exactly? We're dying to know!"

I smile. "Well, in training I found out that I just can't run the gauntlet… I just stabbed some dummies with swords, tried my hand at maces, everything, really. Showed an array of skills. Ooh, I also weightlifted. Strength is real important, you know." I look at Caesar expectantly, one thought crossing my mind— _were you _supposed_ to tell them your skills, Brucite?_

"It looks like we may have another Gloss this year, Panem!" Caesar roars with delight, and I think back, vaguely remembering that Gloss did the exact same thing. A little bit of each skill. I nod, smirking.

"It's also been known to us that you have Cashmere as a mentor. Gloss's older sister. How is she treating you?"

I shrug, indifferent. "Cashmere's good and all that, but I don't really know. I mean, half the time she's off, scolding Gloss for somethin' or other. Me, I think she's cool. I guess."

Caesar nods knowingly. "That's excellent. How is life back home?"

My eyes glitter eagerly. "Wonderful. The ladies especially." At this, the darkened crowd gives an appreciative chuckle. "No special girl in my life yet, but I have a feeling that if I come home as victor, they'll be crawling all over me."

The turquoise-colored man laughs heartily. "Well now! How's your actual family, Brucite?"

"Oh, them? They're good. Ya know. Mom. Dad. Brother. His name is Nano."

"How is Nano? Give us details!"

"He's okay…. Hangs around me a lot." My mouth forms a grim line as I add, "But that means he knows my flirting tricks better than anybody. Am I right, Nano?"

More laughter. I guess I am a riot. My heart does a hopeful flutter, and my solemn expression turns somewhat jolly. My lips quirk into a smirk as Caesar asks me another question. "I'm sure he's learned from the best! Now, Brucite, is the Capitol all you've expected?"

Licking my chops, I nod eagerly. "So much, Caesar. Everything, at the touch of your hand. Once at supper, when I didn't want the main dish, I just told an Avox what I wanted and, five minutes later, BOOM. Homemade lasagna right on my plate. It was freaking epic."

The crowd gives off a collective chuckle.

The turquoise colored man also laughs, throwing his head back and running a tanned hand through his thin teal locks. "That factor does add to the greatness of the Capitol, does it not?"

"SO much!" I applaud a second, clapping my hands together appreciatively. "When I come back as victor, I really hope that I can bring all that goodness to the outlier districts."

"What makes you so sure you'll come back as victor?"

I smile. This question is the one I've been waiting for. "Well… I'm a force. A force to be feared, Caesar. You see that ten I got? That wasn't earned for fooling around, hell no. It was formed by hard work ethic and blood and sweat."

The buzzer sounds just as I end my short speech and I stand up, bowing. _Thank you. Thank you._

**Serafina Aegis, District Two**

Nerves. That's the first thought that enters my mind. But why should I be nervous?

Be _icy_. That's what my stylist, Glade, told me. Be icy. She truly understands me, somewhat a better mentor than even Enobaria. I exhale shakily, somewhere along the lines of a sadistic laugh. She gave me pieces of excellent advice to use. Be icy. Cold, colder than ice itself.

"Serafina Aegis, the icy young woman!"

Caesar's pun doesn't go unnoticed. With a quick adjustment of my tiara (which, might I add, is just as fragile and chilly as ice itself) I flow onto the stage, my dress— which is the clear, almost white color of ice— rippling silently behind me.

"Welcome, Serafina! I must say I'm absolutely _chilled_ by your beauty!"

I stifle a laugh, maintaining my indifferent expression. "Thank you, Caesar. Training does wonders for a girl's figure."

Caesar beams, turquoise lipstick smearing a little. "Very true. We've seen amazing tribute transformations over the years. Of course, these tributes possessed style as well! Your stylists did a stunning job on your dress, don't you agree?"

I smile stiffly. "Absolutely. You know, others have condescendingly called me an ice queen. They misunderstand its meaning. Being icy isn't a personality, Caesar, it's an _aura_. My stylist has done nothing but extract the beauty of that aura."

"Oh, Serafina, if only you could experience the winters here in the Capitol." Caesar closes his eyes for a second as if reliving the glorious wonders of a Capitolian winter. "_Nothing_ is more majestic. Now, let's talk about combat. I, along with many others, do want to see behind that 'nine' you received! During your training… you possess some sort of elegance."

I cut in. "Sword-fighting is than a dance form, requiring fluidity, balance, and control. I call it the dance of death. Such dance needs total awareness of one's body, Caesar."

Caesar nods knowingly. "The dance of death, a dance we all are familiar with! Your shocking abilities must be quite a boon to your allies, the Career pack. Very formidable this year, hm? Have you formed any attachments yet? There's so many good people here this year."

"I see little point in attachment. Only one survives, right? I certainly won't cry for the fallen and I don't expect others to mourn my uncertain death."

Caesar didn't get what he wanted. He's like a dog with a bone. "Percy Brizo, Serafina. What about him? Any young love this year?"

If there was a smile on my face, I'm certain it would have fallen off. "I'm fond of Percy but not in the romantic way. He…. He just reminds me of somebody from my past. That's it."

Caesar replies with a stiff nod. "…Back to attachment. Do you think your bluntness will be off-putting to others?"

"If they can't handle the brutal reality of the Games, they won't do well, period. As for my fellow Careers, we'll work together as a democracy. My feelings aren't important so long as everybody's needs are attended to."

"How about life in District Two?" Caesar seems somewhat discouraged by the fact that I won't give into his silly little game. "Surely a fine female such as yourself as a special someone, eh?"

"In the past," I say vaguely. "Cassius, Cassius Troy. I loved him until he cheated on me."

Caesar's eyes nearly bug out of his head at the prospect of some juicy gossip. "Surely he regrets breaking up with a potential victor? However did you cope, Serafina?"

I smirk grimly, reliving the moment silently. "I told my father, as Cassius wasn't allowed to court me without his approval. In a fit of rage, he stormed over to the Troy's house and… well, the next time I saw Cassius, the cheater was covered in bruises." The crowd lets out wild catcalls and cheers. My smile increases, yet I force it down.

Caesar beams. "Anything you wish to tell Cassius?"

"If he goes near my little sister, I will personally carve his heart out," I say heatedly, my face blushing angrily. So much for being indifferent.

**Slate Bessarion, District Two**

"Slate Bessarion, Panem!"

High-fiving Percy and Coral, who shrinks back a little, I swagger confidently out to the beaming little man on stage, who is somewhat elevated on a small stepstool. Caesar steps down to embrace me, and he is shockingly only down to my shoulder. Funny.

"Slate! I can say for most of Panem, we've been waiting for your interview a while." He waggles his eyebrows. "Care to embellish on this fact?"

My lips curve up into a small smile. Suddenly I find myself at the front of the stage, hands enwrapped in those of Capitol citizens, ones that stand in the front of the audience. Warm hands, hands that feel actually human. I'm surprised. Even when a slender woman with tight golden skin holds her hand out for a handshake, she feels normal as well.

"Friendly old Slate!" Caesar hollers joyfully, hopping back onto his stool as I mount my own chair. "You're already a favorite, I can see!"

"I definitely hope so," I snicker, tossing my flowing hair back with a shake of my head. "Sponsors…. I need you guys." I look into the nearest camera and offer a mysterious wink.

"So, Slate, how's life back home? Anybody special in your life?" Caesar smiles, tilting his head to express his question in actions. I feel the need to roll my eyes, but luckily I refrain.

"Um, yeah. Life's good, you know? Granddad's a past victor. Dax, you might remember him?"

"Oh, he is your grandfather?" Caesar suddenly looks extremely interested. "Wow! We didn't know that! May I ask why you volunteered, then? You must have everything you need at home."

"About that." I shift in my seat, adjusting my position. "I have a girlfriend, see, named Artemis. I love Artemis, don't get me wrong. But… she just disappeared for, like, nine months. I was worried, man." The audience coos in sadness. Offering a grateful grin, I continue, "And she came back… rather, she texted me."

"She texted you!" Caesar echoes.

"Yeah. And… she said that she just had a kid. A girl."

Caesar shakes his head. "The daughter of…. Yourself?"

"Yes. I was a dad and I didn't even know it." My shoulders sag, a sudden heaviness clouding my heart. "She never thought to tell me because she thought I'd leave her… but truth is, I'd never leave Artemis."

Caesar touches the side of his chest, presumably where his heart would be. "Touching, Slate. So you volunteered….why?"

His abruptness usually would be seen as rude, in my opinion, but right now, all thoughts of my girlfriend are blocking that out. My voice laced with longing, I say, "I just wanted to make us a better life. I know, it's probably really stupid of me." My eyes dart to a camera and I offer an uneasy smile. "But I just wanted to prove, just once, that I really could make a difference in somebody's life. In this case, Artemis and little Deyanira."

Shaking his head in sorrow, Caesar tells me gently, "That's powerful, Slate. Just amazing."

My smile's volume increases. Maybe the Capitol really will love a sob story. For emphasis, I sniffle. "I miss them so, so, so much…"

Caesar dabs at his own eyes. "Slate, do you think you have a good chance of coming home to your two girls?"

"Of course!" My spin stiffens. "I am motivated, Caesar, and motivation causes good things to happen. You saw my score. Matching both of my guys and that one girl, Jinx. I'm to be avoided."

Caesar chuckles, keeping his turquoise-tinted eyes on me. "I can certainly see that you're anxious for the Games, Slate!"

I recline back in my chair, folding my hands comfortably over my flat stomach. "Truly, Caesar. But I am going to do the smart thing, taking just a while at a time. I don't want to disrupt fate, after all." I manage a light, easy-going laugh. "It's been good to me, that's true. I can only hope that my luck continues when I go into the arena."

The buzzer rings, its beelike sound, music to my ears. I stand up, stretch, and shake Caesar's hand as he announces merrily to the roaring crowd, "Slate Bessarion, everyone!"

**Alessandra Balis, District Three**

As Slate's buzzer sounds, my heart chimes in time with it. The nerves, they've got to me. I never really did like performing in front of crowds. That must be why I got a four. I panicked in front of the Gamemakers. That's what I'll tell Caesar, anyways. I guess Wiress did me some good. Smiling widely, I straighten my violet-colored dress and listen as Caesar shouts out my name.

"Alessandra Balis, everybody!"

I enter, waving and grinning toothily, bouncing on the balls of my feet, gleeful. Maybe even fierce-looking, with my blond hair curled to perfection.

"Alessandra, how has life been for you so far?" Caesar cuts to the chase, quirking an eyebrow up. "Is the Capitol life suiting you, Alessandra?"

"That and more," I start to gush. "It's the perfect life for me, filled with pleasures and luxuries that I could only dream of. The food, superb. The Avoxes, who obey so well. Everything here is like a dream come true, to be honest."

"I'm glad to hear that!" Caesar chuckles. "It's rather a grand life for me as well. So, Alessandra, to focus more on your life in the districts, a little birdy told me that you're actually a District Two native?" The crowd's filled with gasps and mutters.

I nod, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. "Yes, actually. My mother never told me why, but I have a hunch it was because her work as a garrotte maker was needed to manufacture that certain type of wire. It happens a lot, actually. Not too uncommon." I shrug. "And she's good at it, too. She likes life in District Three. Says that it's simpler and more routine."

"What about you? How do you like it?"

I pause to consider this. "Well…" I drawl. "District Two was definitely better. I had all my friends, a boyfriend, and the training was splendid! I don't know whether I would have necessarily volunteered, but it kept me light on my feet and cheerful." To express this, I offer a cute little grin.

"How was life, moving between the two districts?"

"Actually pretty surreal. I mean, the two are so, so different. Where Two is filled with eager people that are strong, funny, and good-looking, District Three is filled with all these…. These smart people." I wrinkle my nose. "So… you know."

Caesar looks confused, but he changes the subject. "Let's talk about that 'four' that you got in your private session, Alessandra. Would you care to comment on that before we make any presumptions?"

"I'm sure that the presumptions have already been made," I throw out a laugh, but he doesn't respond in like. Shutting my trap quickly, I continue, "Well, I don't do so well in crowds. I sort of panicked in front of the Gamemakers, Caesar. Throwing a javelin was super hard when there's around fifteen pairs of eyes, trained on you alone."

"I can imagine!" Caesar whistles appreciatively. "Did you do better in training itself, pray tell?"

"Obviously." I roll my eyes. "Nobody was too focused on me. They were all training or finding allies for themselves."

Caesar found an opening. "Ah, allies! Have you made any?"

"Well…" I start uncomfortably. "Not really, no. I mean, I was overly focused on the weapon training. I don't need allies, anyways. I can operate just fine on my own." Even as I say it, my tone is unsteady and I sound unsure. "Like… I'm good, yeah."

"That's nice, Alessandra! We always do appreciate an able-bodied person who knows their strengths and weaknesses."

I said something like that? In response, I offer up an unsteady smile. "Thanks."

"How do you think you'll be able to do in the arena, Alessandra? With all these other tributes that are ready to snap a neck without a second thought, you must be terrified!"

"I'm not," I cut in rapidly. Slowing my tone down, I add, "Remember that my heritage lies in the district that produces trained victors almost every year. I'm not afraid to fight, Caesar. I'm ready to snap a neck, too, although I doubt I could manage it. Maybe stab somebody, get at least a few kill counts to my name. If I do beat the odds and die, I want to die with dignity!"

Caesar raises his eyebrows. "You crave dignity?"

"Of course I do. Who doesn't?" I shake my head, causing a tornado of buttery blond hair hanks. "Dignity is earned, so it's even better when you know you have some to your name. It's a bit like respect."

"Of course," Caesar bobs his head, beaming toothily. "It's wonderful that you feel that way! You really are telling the truth. I believe it, I do."

The buzzer rings, an echoing, haunting sound, and I'm off the stage, giving Caesar a farewell wave. I'm sure that my interview went well. I'm, like, positive. Perfect.

**Arthur Augustus, District Three**

"Arthur Augustus, everybody! Here he comes!"

I bound out eagerly, my smile stretching toothily across my chin. "Hi, there, Caesar!" I holler as I come up to meet him. "I finally get to see you! You look so much smaller in person, really!"

He looks a bit confused, but I don't let that stop me. I wrap him in a big bear hug, shaking the small man from side to side like we're dancing. He pulls back after a second, his turquoise hair in disarray. "Eager, aren't we, Arthur," he says somewhat distastefully.

"Yeah, I really am!" I reply cheerfully.

"So, Arthur! Let's not beat around the bush. How did you feel when you were Reaped? You had quite an unusual reaction!"

"Well, I was a little confused." I give Caesar a really goofy smile. "By the way, what did I win?"

Caesar is not put off by this question like most others are. He responds, "Why, you win a trip to the Capitol! You get to see its glory in person, plus you can compete in the Hunger Games… for free. It's a win-win situation, isn't it?"

I offer him a good-natured, sweet smile, nodding in silent agreement. "My stylists are mean, though. Said I had… lice an' nits."

"WHAT?"

"Kidding!" I tease him, laughing heartily. "Said my hair was nice and it's a pleasure to work with me."

"So, Arthur. What do you think of the Hunger Games?" Caesar changes the subject abruptly.

"Um, yeah, about that. _Why_ is it called the Hunger Games?"

Caesar's expression is hard to read, but he looks rather… confused. "What do you mean?"

"Where's the food? With a name called the Hunger Games, you'd think there would be food involved. And those feasts, oh how they kill me! They give away a bagel or something! _Hardly_ anything worth killing people over. Why isn't there an all-you-can-devour buffet? At least a turkey leg to nibble on while you crack somebody's head open with a mace. Come on, people." Caesar looks mildly interested, so I stand up, gesturing. "So tell me—why is it called the Hunger Games when there always seems to be this huge bounty of food?"

"What? You just said…"

"Yes, yes, but that was just for the feasts," I reply patiently, inwardly telling him to keep up. We were over the feasts, like, ten seconds ago. "In the Games, though. Regularly. All the tributes who get backpacks usually have crackers or something. You call this the Hunger Games? They're so well fed! At the feasts, it's honestly a huge surprise when most of them…. They _go_ for it!"

Caesar laughs, dabbing at his eyes. "Arthur, you truly are a funny one! Good jokes, young man, you could possibly be a comedian!"

I sit back down, my tongue feeling numb. Why won't it just fall off already? Though I was being sincere, Caesar took this to be something I created just to get laughs. It is an interview, after all. I'm hoping to get some answers.

"So Arthur, do you think you can win the Hunger Games?"

Again with the unneeded, stupid questions. But patiently, I respond, "I thought you said I already won. A few moments ago, you said I just won a trip to see the glorious Capitol and a chance to compete in the Hunger Games."

Caesar nodded, a tight smile stretching across his face. "Right, Arthur. You're very observant in that aspect."

I nod solemnly. "Thank you for the compliment, Caesar. My mother and father, they don't see me in the same light as you."

"Oh?" He raises a bluish-green eyebrow. "Tell me about them, Arthur. What is your home life like?"

"Well, I have a little sister named Rhiannon, but she just wants to be called Rhia for some reason. She doesn't like her long, pretty name." I shrug. "Mom and Dad are both pretty strict. They like intelligent, smart children and when I was born, I guess they weren't too happy. They yell at me a lot, too, when I break things and stuff."

Caesar frowns slightly. "But if you come home as victor, they'll see you differently, won't they?"

I shrug. "Maybe. They're all tangled up in work. They usually don't notice me."

Some buzzing noise cuts off my next sentence and, bewildered, my head snaps around, looking for the cause of the beelike sound. Caesar Flickerman stands up to shake my hand, but instead I embrace him warmly. He's just like a dad.

"Thanks," I whisper to him. "For this wonderful opportunity. You're so nice."

**Coral Fisher, District Four**

"And now, for Coral Fisher! The kindly Career!"

The label throws me off a little. Percy ushers me onto the stage, a soft smile playing on his thin lips. The change in character is somewhat shocking, but it's very encouraging. Maybe he's starting to like me again after all. Maybe this is an omen.

I pinch the teal fabric of my high-low dress as Mr. Flickerman greets me in his own colorful ensemble. We look so much alike in color alone, it's shocking but a bit funny. He embraces me with a hug, which I suppose was to be expected. He hugged most others, after all.

"Hello, Coral," he says kindly.

"Hi, Mr. Flickerman!" I answer, a bit shyly. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine! You can call me Caesar," he adds, hopping onto his plush crimson chair. "Now, Coral, this interview is about you, not me! So, tell me about yourself!"

I giggle girlishly. "Well… I'm family-oriented. My family is probably the most important thing in my life. I love going fishing and cliff diving with my father…. I have a little brother named Kai, who is four. Oh, and I don't go to school. My mum teaches me. She is the best teacher in the world." I might sound like an innocent little girl, but it's all longing. I truly do miss my home, my family.

"Family-oriented people are usually the most sound people in the Hunger Games, Coral," Mr. Flickerman—no, he's Caesar—says. "But what about a special someone, Coral? Anybody you call your boyfriend? Or, a girlfriend, even?"

I shake my head, stifling a snicker. "No. I was hoping I could meet someone here!" I find the eye of a bronze-haired guy in the audience and I wink.

"That's certainly a possibility, Coral, but you do realize the odds of that working out."

The room falls silent. Not even a hushed whisper is heard from the expansive, colorful crowd. The only sound that I hear is the sound of my thumping, thumping, thumping heart. I swallow, acknowledging my mistake. "I realize that," I say. "I was thinking, maybe a Capitolite. You know, somebody new yet… exciting."

_All right, everybody, let's not get caught up in Coral Fisher's love life_, I think to myself_,_ gritting my teeth angrily.

Mr. Flickerman nods. "That's an idea, isn't it? Most Capitol citizens, you'll find, are rather open and friendly! If you come home as victor, they'll be all over you."

"I should hope so," I reply. "I'm not the most desirably or anything. I even have a baby face. Not the best for sponsors, really."

"But they'll fall in love with your personality!" Mr. Flickerman cuts in, his face clouded with silent worry. "Many people already have. You just have that innocent aura surrounding you, Coral."

"Thanks," I reply unenthusiastically. "I'm the weakest Career, so I guess I'll need the support."

"Not necessarily? You pulled your weight, as did half the others, with a formidable nine. That's nothing too shabby. Care to tell us what you did?"

"I have a feeling that hiding it's not going to gain me many sponsors, so sure. I basically built fires and used my tridents. I think the reason I got a nine is because I threw a couple tridents from a good length away, still burying them in the dummies."

"That's fantastic!" Mr. Flickerman applauds a couple times. "That shows strength, accuracy, and balance all at once!"

"Really? Is that why I got such a good score?" I wonder aloud.

Mr. Flickerman nods. "Most likely. But don't be ashamed. A nine is nothing to scoff at!"

I reply with a somewhat testy smile. The buzzer at the side clatters hauntingly, saving me from further interrogation. Man, am I ever glad.

"Coral Fisher, everybody!"

**Percy Brizo, District Four**

Coral rushes off the stage, looking flushed but rather pleased with herself. Her dancing eyes flicker to me and her somewhat satisfied expression turns dour. I don't understand; ever since the beginning, I've been nothing but kind to the girl, and she treats me like a dead fish?

Honestly, I really don't get girls.

Caesar announces my name, looking rather pleased with himself, and I trot out. Immediately, bright lights swarm my vision and I'm basically blind. Blinking away stars, I stumble forward, moving my arm slowly in a sort of drugged wave.

Caesar steadies me once I reach the two chairs, giggling jovially the entire time. "A little unsteady on your feet, now, Percy?" he jokes, helping me into the chair. I swipe a hand across my eyelids, applying gentle pressure on my eyes, and they slowly start feeling better.

"Just a little," I admit. "The lights, they're so freaking bright."

"Ah, we get many a tribute to say that! You're not the only one, Percy," Caesar winks. "So… where shall we begin?"

"The beginning would be a good place to start," I recover quickly, grinning devilishly. A girl in the front row laughs loudly and I shoot her a wink.

"How about the topic of… your fellow Careers?" Caesar raises a turquoise eyebrow. "Tell me about them, your opinions!"

"Well…. Brucite is awesome, just a regular guy like me, and he's ferocious, too, I guess…" I shrug. "He's one of my good friends, as is Slate. Slate's like the peacemaker of the whole group. Wise, too. Constance, she's alright. A little melodramatic, but overall she's a pretty nice girl." I pause for a quick breath. "Serafina, too, she's really unpredictable and she's all, like, cold to people and stuff. Blunt, I guess. And my own district partner…" I shiver, suddenly feeling very cold and very alone. "Coral, I mean… she's okay."

Caesar accepts this without a second thought. "It looks like you're all perfectly happy together, Percy!" he tells me, a smile creeping up onto his freakishly made up lips. "And other than your allies, what is your first impression of the other tributes?"

"If I had to answer that truthfully, I think that I'd insult a few people."

Caesar shakes his head, chuckling. "Somebody has spunk here, no?"

"I don't know," I shrug, realizing too late that it was a rhetorical question. I'm about to say something else, but quickly suck air in through my parted lips and look at him, my heart in my throat.

"So Percy, how are you liking the Capitol?"

"It's so awesome. The food's a lot better, too. Better than eating raw sushi all the time," I reply, shuddering in remembrance of fish for almost every single meal. "Plus, my bed's heated, so that's a definite bonus. I love almost everything about it, but the one thing I do miss is… is my family," I add, rather hesitantly.

Caesar nods. "That's understandable, Percy! I'd be wrong if I said every tribute didn't miss their own."

I nod, maintaining my sad smile.

"Now, what about that ten you received in the training session? Pretty high, matching only three others!"

Three others? Me, Brucite, and Slate and that's it. We were the only ones to achieve that high score—oh, never mind. That frizzy-haired girl from District Six. She proved herself worthy of a ten, too, come to think of it. A real threat.

Oops, Caesar's still here. _I'm_ still here.

"Um, yeah, it was pretty hard to get, I mean… yeah. Pretty tricky." I shrugged. "I used a bow and arrow. Deadly aim, you know," I chuckle lightly, pulling back my arm and stretching out the other to represent the shooting of a bow and arrow. "Pow."

"Ah, so your weapon of choice is a bow?"

"Guess so," I reply, nodding. "I didn't do too well in the training session, to be honest. I think the reason I got a ten was because I didn't give up when I failed, just kept on shooting arrows."

I can still remember the thin twang of the bow as it released an arrow, the cold metal of an arrowhead as I notch one into place. The memories send happy shivers down my spine, which I translate into one big, agreeable grin.

A sudden buzzing sound shocks me and I jump out of my chair, heart pounding. What was that? I glance behind my shoulder to try and see, but instead my eyes fall upon an incredibly bright spotlight. Crap… not again. I squint my eyes shut, shaking hands with Caesar, but I must look like the biggest idiot in the world, nodding and smiling with my eyes screwed shut.

I can barely make it off the stage.

**Lux Sephina, District Five**

Percy Brizo stumbles out, his eyes bugged out even though they're closed. For a moment, I feel sorry for the older boy, even though I totally shouldn't. He _volunteered_ for this. He knew the risks he would be taking, and yet he shoved himself onto the stage.

I can't feel sorry for him. Just can't.

Once the small light that indicates when to go on flashes lime green, I stroll out, my knees knocking together, terrified. I'm only glad that my crimson dress goes down mid-shin and that my shoes are simple red flats. I won't fall, at the very least.

The vibrantly colored man stands at the middle of the stage, his arm extended towards me. He reminds me of a more vivid image of my father, only a bit different. The resemblance is striking.

"Lux!" Caesar grins broadly, showing off most of his flashing ivory teeth. "Such a joy to have you onstage!"

"It's… it's great to be here," I stutter slightly, not at all familiar with the feeling of being watched by millions. "Well, not great, but… but you know what I mean."

"How so?" Caesar raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, it's not like I'm going to win…" I exhale. "Most likely I'll be a bloodbath. This is probably the last night of my life." Realization hits me, resulting in tears glossing over my eyes. Aeol and Array will probably be alone. Maybe my nightmare about being underage house-owners will come true, and they'll all get evacuated.

Caesar shakes his head, his flickering eyes suddenly downcast. "I'm sure that you'll make it very far, Lux," he says, a hint of sadness in his mournful tone. "That five you got in training was pretty snazzy!"

I smile sadly, lifting my gaze to make eye contact with Caesar. "Did you notice that most people got fives, though? It's a quite common score."

"Scores aren't everything!" Caesar changes his tactic. "You could be very dim-witted and get an eleven, you know, or extremely logical and you receive a two. It all depends on weaponry or survival skills alone."

"I know," I cut in, blinking back the tears that ominously cloud my eyes, "but to sponsors, they are everything. They won't sponsor you if you have a two, we all know that!"

"If you show skills in the arena that haven't been revealed before, you'll definitely earn the respect of some sponsors," Caesar concludes gravely. "Onto… winning. Say we go, two weeks into the future, and you've won. Why do you think you have won?"

"Motivation," I say instantly, shaking my head with the easiness of the question. "I just… I just really, really want to go home to District Five."

"And what is it that makes you want to go home so badly?" Caesar prods, lifting an eyebrow.

"My family." The tears suddenly trickle down my cheeks, and I brush them away quickly. "I really miss them all. I… I really want to see my best friend and little brother again." I barely make the sentence out before I burst into tears, hysterical sobbing that makes my petite body convulse over and over.

Caesar smiles kindly, rubbing my forearm with his hand. "I'm sure they miss you, too, Lux!"

I look up, suddenly a bit lighter at the sight of millions of sympathetic faces swimming before me. Sure, they're Capitol citizens, but…. But they're humans, too. Brightly colored, extravagant humans, but they're still—almost—the same as me.

I sigh shakily, smoothing down the soft fabric of my crimson dress. "I know they do," I answer, nodding my head solemnly. "I know they do."

Caesar nods, his expression somewhat interested. "Who's all in your family?"

My body suddenly grows rigid, my spine tingling like it's been smacked. "Um… my parents and little brother," I lie, clenching my teeth in shame. "Just a small family, but I consider my best friend fully one of us."

The small man nods, grinning toothily. "It's always nice to see a family-oriented girl, Lux!" he chirps.

"Thanks."

The beelike sound tells me to get off the stage, which I do happily. Caesar offers me a hand on the way out, but I somewhat eagerly decline, totally enthusiastic about leaving.

My knees knock the entire way out.

**Alister Rain, District Five**

My 'lovely' district partner exits the stage, her cheeks flushed and her hair coming out of its sleek ponytail. If anything, she looks rather terrified. I don't really blame her, but that doesn't mean I'm going to break down in my interview like she did. Kassidy spent loads of time going over my strategy—to be determined and bold—and I'm _not_ going to flub it up.

Caesar calls out my name, and without a backward glance to the next tribute, I stride onstage, completely at ease. I do well in front of crowds. Today is no different. I grin broadly at the shrieking crowd, my eyes honing in on a gaggle of young girls surrounded by glitter, arms outstretched to me.

I've already got a fan base!

Encouraged by this, I pump Caesar's hand eagerly, greeting him warmly. He looks a bit ridiculous in turquoise, but I'm sure that that's all the rage in the Capitol. Those dyed eyebrows may have been a bit too much, though…

"Alister Rain, good to meet you!" Caesar says, his tone smooth as sheet metal. "It's increasingly clear that you have many fans in the Capitol."

I grin. "I'm glad that you've chosen to highlight that," I reply, smiling in response. "Kassidy—my mentor, of course—told me that I was a high person to be bid upon, and to be honest, I was somewhat surprised."

"Why is that? You're strong. Handsome. And hey, you got a seven!"

I shrug. "In my district, I was generally disliked," I answer him. "I had friends and all that, a huge family, too, but I wasn't the most popular guy or anything like that."

Caesar twists his mouth around in a sort of pouty manner. "That's not true, is it? You're, like I said before, handsome and likable."

"True," I sigh, throwing my hands up in mock confusion. "But oh well, right? If I get crowned victor and come back home, there will be people at my feet." I laugh lightly.

"That's very true!" Caesar crows, hopping out of his chair and gesturing wildly to me. "Panem, give Alister some praise!"

A bit surprising, if I'm honest. All the Careers, plus District Three and Lux, and he didn't do any of this to them. Maybe I was higher ranked than Kassidy let on. Maybe I'm actually at the top. My heart thumps faster, my beam widening until my cheeks hurt. Thunderous applause rains down on me.

Caesar takes his seat once more, chuckling weakly in the aftermaths of the small applause riot he just caused. "Ahh…. So, Alister. You managed an impressive seven? No doubt a difficult feat! How'd you earn it?"

I rest my chin on the palm of my hand. "I was very focused," I drawl, staring at the glossy black floor. "Very important in training. I made sure not to make any petty mistakes regarding weaponry."

He nods, the look on his eerily smooth face unreadable. "Indeed important," he pronounces carefully, "and no doubt that it paid off! I'm sure that the sponsors are simply lining up for you, Alister!"

I laugh weakly. "I definitely hope so. That would be really helpful in the arena, especially with… my ally." I add the last bit in with a slight reluctance. Arthur didn't talk about me. Why should I talk about him?

"Ally! You must tell us who your ally is, Alister!"

"Arthur," I say, tilting my head. "He and I bonded over chariots, then training."

"Always nice to see a good friendship in the arena," Caesar tells me knowingly. "But aside from allies, is there anybody else who's special in your life?"

Without thinking, my lips utter, "Talon." Caesar looks at me expectantly and I rush to finish it up. "She's… my sister, yeah. We were really close."

He accepts this. "I'll bet you're going to try and win for her, eh?"

"Of course!" I reply without a second thought. "She may be just my sister, but she is also my best friend!"

The buzzer's sound jolts me out of saying more. With a slight wave, Caesar escorts me off of the stage, where I leave, hamming it up with cheeky grins.

**Jinx Tesatsu, District Six**

This is so stupid. Gingham didn't tell me what to do, what to feel, she focused on my "angle". What the hell is an angle? Apparently, Francis's was lovable and relatable or something like that, and she paid more attention to him than I because she kept murmuring about how his own bloody mentor was sick in the head.

So yeah, I guess I'm nothing.

This dress wasn't even my choice, even though Francis kept delighting in how he got a say in his outfit. My dress is blood red, which I somewhat appreciate, but it flaunts my curves and all that in ways I don't like. Makes me more of an item. Like a horrific lady-killer. Man killer, lady-killer, however you look at it. My black tendrils are loose, but used to be held back in a thin hair band.

Used to be. I smirk, snapping the elastic against my wrist, already causing a reddish mark.

Caesar Flickerman, a man with freakish turquoise hair, announces the leaving of that one Alister guy, then calls out my name as Alister leaves. He's wearing a stupid, self-satisfied smile. I wrinkle my nose as he struts past, but he doesn't notice. All for the better, I suppose.

Caesar beckons me onto the stage and I saunter out, a bit awkward in red high heels. They make me stumble, but before I crash to the ground my leg shoots out to catch me, and I act like this was planned. I rip the thin, unneeded straps from my ankles, successfully removing the high heels, and I toss them aside, walking back to Caesar with a small smirk.

"The shoes weren't to your liking, were they?" he greets me cheerfully, hand outstretched all friendly-like.

"They were unneeded," I say quietly.

Caesar scans my face a moment before taking his own seat, hand tucked protectively in his pocket. I didn't shake his hand. "Anyways, Jinx Tesatsu… everybody's dying to know the reason of your volunteering."

I shake my head, creating a small avalanche of black curls. "I'm never telling anyone, never. It's my secret and if anybody tries to worm it out of me… they'll get on my dark side."

"Ooh!" Caesar claps enthusiastically, all peppily. "What's so bad about your dark side, Jinx?"

Irritating. I force myself to keep the smile up as I reply. "Has a lot of…. Demons that lie within it. I don't think anybody wants me to release all the devils I have stored up inside of me."

Caesar looks mildly enthralled. "Say somebody did get on your dark side, Jinx? What would happen?"

This guy's getting on my bad side already, and we're two questions in. I grit my teeth. "I'd tell them…" I tilt my head to the side in pretend thought. Very slowly I stand up, crimson dress immediately attaching itself differently around my hips. My head turns to Caesar, who's wiping away a bead of sweat.

"_SAY ONE MORE WORD AND I'LL RIP YOUR THROAT OUT WITH MY BARE HANDS!"_

My guttural, animal-like howl snatched his attention. He jumps, eyes widened in fear. I sit back down, the dress squeaking in the friction of leather against leather. I raise a thick eyebrow. "Next question, please?"

We talk for a while more, and I try to avoid all questions regarding my past, volunteering, family, and all that jazz. Caesar looks terrified the entire time, but finally he exhales in relief, realizing the time must be almost up.

"Final question, Jinx! What do you have to say to your fellow tributes?"

Easy. "To watch out, because I'm coming, and once I've caught up with them there's no stopping me." I paint on an evil smirk just as the buzzer rings. I leave, kicking my high heels out of the way.

**Francis Theroux, District Six**

Jinx exits the glossy stage, smirking all the while. Her crimson lips, curved up devilishly, part to stick her tongue out at me as I trot onstage, nearly tripping over my too-long pant legs that shimmer vibrantly.

Caesar offers me a hand, already babbling. "Welcome, Francis! You certainly are a vibrant young man! Tell me, what inspired your rainbow of color this evening?"

He must mean my colorful clothing. "Well… my stylists wanted me to wear some different outfit. So I did, but then I saw an amazing vista. I had to paint it, had to. Splotches of wet color everywhere. Hues of every color. Stylists, they're angry, but had an epiphany. Why not have me wear a rainbowy suit? I said yes."

Caesar chuckles. "You're chipper, aren't you! Why does the outfit suit you?"

"I love painting. Always have. Mother said I'd be an artistic savant if I focused more. Too much to focus on, Caesar! Life's not boring, but adds color to an otherwise blank canvas. Colors are life!"

"Well, Francis," Caesar replies, hiding a smile, "the Capitol certainly has many colors. Have you enjoyed your stay here?"

I think a moment. It's extremely beautiful here, lovely landscapes and vast congregations of lights. The night sky, splendid. I love it all. But the people. Dalton, for example, is somewhat mad. Gingham's better. The streets are crowded like those of Six, which reminds me of home.

"Oh, yes," I say enthusiastically. "Grand architecture, wonderful people, and those amazing sunset vistas… Would love to paint here."

"You definitely could be the next artistic sensation, but you'd have to outlast some impressive tributes!" Caesar chuckles. "Are you worried about your 'one' that you got in training?"

My heart thumps to an imaginary beat. "I tried, I did. I would have transformed that training center into a sprawling, vibrant canvas. I lost control, couldn't help it. I had to obey my visions."

"Visions?" Caesar looks very interested. "What did you see in training?"

I settle back into the chair, fingers tracing the cold cuff links. "Beautiful trees looming overhead…. The woman, she _glows_… Caramel hair blowing in the wind and alabaster dress swirling in the breeze… Lovely sing-song chords fill my ears, so I walk towards her. A brown stain smatters over it all. Hands reach for her, but soft skin dissolves into nothingness. Then a chill fills the air. Spreads across my fingertips, and numbness invades my body…"

Lights dance crazily before my eyes, and I have to slam my eyelids shut in order to maintain my undizzy composure. Very hard to.

"_Francis! Are you okay? Francis! Francis!"_

My eyes snap open, revealing a worried Caesar who's fanning me with his hands. "I'm sorry, I lost control," I murmur. "The visions call to me, a thousand colorful voices. In the day, in the night. Always with me… haunting my steps."

"Fascinating!" Caesar clears his throat, eyes trained on me. "Any dark secrets?"

A swirling sensation overtakes my body. What once was a sea of darkened Capitolites is now eerie, blackened mist. Coldness fills the air. I can only see Caesar. What is that behind him?

"No… no…. no, I can see it," I croak. A birdlike form steps into the light. I dictate this to the unseeing, Caesar. "Wings of fate beckon me forth. A dark shroud is enveloping us all. We can't escape from this hell! Faint wisps rise to the heavens. We can't escape. The time has come! Judgment is nigh!" The birdlike form raises its magnificent, glittering wings and soars high above the mist wisps, letting go a shower of mystical spiritual bodies.

I throw myself to the ground, terrified. The bodies sink into the ground, their talons dragging them forward, towards Caesar and I. We can't escape. My eyes roll upwards, but the bird thing is gone. It's just us and the spirits.

"_Let me help you up, Francis."_

With an awful howl, the spirits disappear in a mess of charcoal-colored smoke. The lights flicker back on, and the audience is a mess of murmurs.

"You can't!" I shriek. "You disrupted the visions! They're angry. We're doomed! You _BROKE_ them. The vengeful ones will kill us all! The strong, weak, brave, cowardly, everyone! Everybody's going to die. One by one they'll take us all and you _CAN'T_ stop them! They're coming…"

I barely hear the muted sound of the buzzer.

**A/N: Hall of Fame by the Script.**

**First half of interviews done! Do you love me, or do you love me? :) I have a bone to pick with most of you, though. Four reviews for the last chapter. Four. Four. Out of twenty-four tributes, only four of their submitters cared to review. *****Sigh*. Honestly, I don't know why I bother if nobody wants to review for the sake of their tributes…**

**Only two chapters till the bloodbath! Are you all excited? ^-^ I know I am for sure!**

**QUESTIONS.**

**1. Your thoughts on each POV? Detailed, please, since these are special interviews. **

**2. Favorite interview?**

**3. Least favorite? **

**4. Who surprised you?**

**5. Lastly, what did you think of the wonderful Caesar?**


	19. Hall of Fame Pt Two

_**The world's gonna know your name, cause you burn with the brightest flame.**_

**Leaf Ender, District Seven**

As Francis Theroux crouches on the stage, wailing, I'm mentally preparing myself. Every extra second I can get is precious. I'd absolutely die if I froze up onstage. Why should I? Blight prepared me for anything…

Behind me, Ben snickers hysterically at the sight of Francis's arms flailing madly in the air, eyes widened in fear. "That kid's terrible," he giggles. "Gonna be a bloodbath for sure."

I narrow my eyes. "How do you know you're not going to be one?"

Ben sighs, shaking his head. "Dear, dear, dear Leaf. I have skills, whereas that Frannie kid has nothing but his crazy little visions and a score of a one to his name."

Francis's buzzer sounds and he has to be escorted off of the stage. I watch him as he shrieks out to the line of tributes, "There's no escape! Everyone will die, everyone!" Freaky.

"And now, for Panem's sweetheart, Leaf Ender!"

Nice title. It makes me slightly happier, more encouraged. I skitter onto the stage, waving girlishly, filled with hope. My slim evergreen-colored shoes seem to be glued onto my feet, and they feel so light, padding against the glittery floor.

"Leaf! Somebody's certainly in a good mood tonight!" Caesar grins, his green-blue lips stretching to reveal two rows of pearly whites.

"I sure am!" I reply, giggling.

"How's the Capitol been to your liking, so far?" he asks gently, escorting me to my seat. "It's sure good for putting people in positive moods, is it not? Everything at the touch of your fingertips!"

"The Capitol has been great. I love the food, the lights, everything about it." I smile toothily. "Blight, my mentor, is like a father figure to me. He really makes me feel like I'm at home, and I've admired him from District Seven, too. I even named my dog after him!"

"Speaking of home, do you miss your family?"

"Oh, of course! Ivy, the most. She's my older sister. She always knew what to say when I was down! Now, well… nobody knows what to say. It's quite lonely here with the exception of Blight."

"It's not lonely at all!" Caesar uses his thumb to tilt my chin upwards. "Why, we could be friends. I definitely could cheer you up."

"I never had a good friend before," I admit, twisting my fingers around the silky material of my dress. "I suppose it's worth a shot!"

The audience coos in appreciation. My smile increases.

"So Leaf… as a friend, I'm asking you your strategy for the Games tomorrow!" Caesar draws his thick eyebrows together. "What are you going to do?"

"Well," I say, "I didn't want any allies, because I think I can work fine on my own—plus, I don't really trust anybody. Um, I guess I'll just try to grab a backpack or something at the Cornucopia and run off."

Caesar nods. "That's a very good plan, Leaf. As you know, weaponry skills are very important! Can you tell us what you did to get your score?"

I smile, feeling important. "I'd love to, but I have a feeling that would give away my strengths too much!" I laugh lightly.

Caesar cocks an imaginary finger gun at me. "Spot on, dear Leaf! Has Blight talked to you about the tributes' rankings yet?"

"Yes. Both him and Johanna have. Ben and I aren't doing so well." My heart feels heavy, like lead, like it might sag out of my chest at any given moment.

Caesar let out a deep belly laugh. "That's where you're wrong! That's only based on your appearances and training scores. As we all know, each and every tribute could be hiding something, right?"

"Like Johanna!" I chime in.

"Right! Just like Johanna. Rankings shift considerably after interviews, Leaf, based on the tributes' personality and all of that." Caesar's sea-green eyes glitter excitedly. "I'm positive that yours will go up!"

The loud, clanking sound of the buzzer tells me to wrap up the interview. "Thanks so much, Caesar!" I chirp, very much enlightened by the fact that he thinks I have a fighting chance, with sponsors at least.

The crowd's applause is deafening.

**Ben McMhon, District Seven**

I pick nervously at my hunter green tie as Leaf, in a matching dress, answers some question about our rankings. Johanna was confident I'd make it through well, but I'm not so sure. At the very least, I hope to gain some Capitol support.

Leaf leaves the stage, her pretty brown curls bouncing with every step she takes. She looks so pretty… if only she knew that I liked her. Maybe I should tell her tonight, just to humor myself. Or maybe not. Maybe that will just make me more nervous about tomorrow.

"Ben McMhon, everybody!"

My name is music to my ears. I rush towards Caesar barreling right at him at top speed. I stop short of him, grinning cheekily. "Hi there, Caesar."

"Ben, you sure seem eager!" Caesar smiles, patting the soft seat, a simple gesture for me to sit down. "Come, come."

I hop up onto the seat, feet gently padding against the steps that lead to it. "It's awesome to be here," I wonder aloud, eyes sparkling as they gaze every which way at every glittering, gorgeous thing onstage and off. "The people are so vibrant and colorful, and the outdoors is so… so pretty!"

"If only you could see the differing seasons here, Ben!" He holds his hands close to his chest, shaking his head with longing. "In autumn, everything is orange, red, or copper. In winter, it's all silvery and blue!"

"And now, in spring or summer, it's all colors?"

"Quite right!" Caesar nods jovially. "Rather amazing, is it not? Such a dramatic change!"

"It must be," I marvel. "In District Seven it's always pine-colored. Green and brown, that's it. Oh, yeah, and in winter there's some glittery snow and ice. But yeah, aside from that, it's all these nature colors."

Caesar shakes his head. "I'm sure maybe if you come back as victor you can find a way to _spruce_ up the place a little!" He laughs loudly at his pun; I join along uncertainly, shaking my head… the guy's trying a bit too hard. I don't see how he is so popular, really. "So Ben, do you have a strategy for the Games? Any allies or anything like that?"

I shrug. "Nope, no allies. I'm a lone wolf this time around. I don't know, I'm going to try and snag some stuff from the Cornucopia—at least, that is what Johanna told me to do."

"Ah, yes, Johanna Mason! How are you liking your mentor, Ben?"

I beam. "She really is great," I say. "So sassy and all that. She was really helpful concerning the Games, as well! A real mentor, she was."

"She is, isn't she? A very fiery woman!" Caesar chuckles. "Ben, we haven't talked much about your past. Care to enlighten us on your family, friends, anything of that matter?"

"What's there to talk about?" I ask. "My mom and dad are nice, my sister, Jessie, is hard-working, and I have an identical brother, Leo. He's nothing like me, though. I usually just chill with them—I don't have many friends, I'm more family-oriented, I guess."

Spinning that lie took no effort. I'm intensely glad that Caesar accepts this without a second thought. I mean, yeah, I don't have friends… but it's not like I love my family with my whole heart, either. Yes, they're nice and they feed me and all that… but honestly, I could care less. I've tried. I just can't bring myself to have a full, loving relationship with… with anything any more. Leaf was the exception.

The buzzer sounds and I hop off of my stool, wide-eyed and feeling ecstatic—I think I might have bought myself some sponsors! Caesar shakes my hand. "Good luck out there, young Ben!" he jovially tells me, and with that in mind, I dance off of the stage.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

I watch as the little boy from District Seven dances off the stage, all jittery and carefree. My lips curve up into a sad smile; poor guy will probably die before he even knows what's happening.

Caesar announces my name and I saunter onstage, ruffling my sizzling orange dress charismatically. The golden feathers glitter under the stage lights, and the pointy auburn shoes finish up the whole thing. My hair, done up dramatically with glittery hair ties and bobby pins, goes along with the whole sizzling-like-I'm-on-fire look. '

He looks at me, grinning, for a moment before embracing me warmly, like some old uncle. I tentatively hug him back, smiling in return. "Hi, Caesar."

"Willa! I must say, the crowd's been waiting for you all night!"

"Thank you," I laugh lightly, waggling my eyebrows at the crowd flirtatiously. "I've waited for this, although I was a bit unsure of how they'd like me! Now, of course, I see otherwise."

He nods, his turquoise hair bobbing with every movement of his bedazzled head. "For sure, Willa! Everybody's been talking about you. Rumor has it you have… a dream team?"

"I'm sure we'll get to that later!" I giggle, swatting at the air. "I don't want to give it away too soon!"

Caesar pouts dramatically. "All right, then. To get things moving along, what do you think of the other tributes?"

I playfully glare at him, while the audience laughs endlessly. "Well, the Careers this year _suck_," I say, "like, totally. They're all so arrogant in their own ways, although Percy tried to teach Annabell and I the tricks and trade of… maces, I believe."

Caesar chuckles. "And your allies, Willa?"

"They're the best alliance anybody could ask for!" I sigh happily. "It's consisted of Jinx Tesatsu, Nubu Chandlers, and Annabell Berry. We're all very excited to be with each other, and we support each other in every way possible! That, Caesar, is why I refer to them as the dream team."

He tries to cut in, but I interrupt him, eyes sparkling. "Jinx brings the weaponry skills to the alliance, and God, is she good at them! I mean, you all saw her ten. Annabell is an absolute doll, Caesar. She's so nice, and I have a feeling that the sponsors will be all over her when it's come time for her interview! Nubu's sort of the glue that binds us all together, with his sharp wits, and me?" I giggle, pausing to gulp down some air, "I think of myself as the leader of the pack!"

"That's very interesting, Willa!" Caesar says, clapping slightly, politely, "but do you think that you four could possibly rival the Careers?"

"Not so sure about that," I respond after a moment, "because half of them got tens and the rest all got nines, but I think that if their number was reduced slightly, then yeah, I think that we could take them."

I'm aware that this might be putting a target on my alliance's back—Woof warned me about that intensely—but of course, I'm being bold, and boldness and attractiveness combined creates sponsorships. We need it; we're one of the largest alliances.

"On any rate, Willa, tell me about your life back home!"

"Wonderful!" I answer. "I had a gang of great friends, a nice family… it was pretty decent. We lived well, in a rather large house, and it was all really great!"

"If you come back as victor, what will be the first thing you'll accomplish back home?"

"I have heard that you get to feed your district for an entire year! That would be pretty great," I say dreamily. "Everybody… getting real food… It would be one step closer to ending the District Eight poverty, right?"

"You're correct!" Caesar chuckles, just as the beelike sound resonates around the room. Standing up to give me a hug, he announces to the audience, "Willa Seamstress, Panem! The girl with the plan!"

**Camo Russo, District Eight**

Pulling at my navy tie, I sigh heavily as I watch Willa giggle, swaggering offstage. She actually had the chance to get a good interview. With my crappy luck, Caesar will probably have it out for me—Caesar! Panem's most loved, tiny, colorful man who has never had a bad thing to say about anybody.

He announces my name without much emphasis - or did I just imagine that? – and I walk onstage, my face a mask of indifference and blankness. I stare at the hand he offers me, and I unwillingly sit down. The chair is soft, pink.

"Camo…" Caesar trails off, his eyes narrowing. I was right; they must have told him about me. "Well, this is certainly a joy to have you here today."

I nod.

"So, Camo, are you… happy to be here?"

"I could think of a lot of places I'd rather be right now." My eyes lock with President Snow, who is sitting in a special alcove above the audience. Though he's far away and the blinding light is getting to me, I think I see him smirk, shaking his head. I exhale into some gum, creating a small bubble.

"Camo, let's brush up on that one you received in training, eh? What did you think of that, Camo? Rather terrible for a guy of your stature and age, Camo." Caesar looks at me with hardened eyes.

I shrug. "You know, Caesar, not everybody plays by the rules."

I know I've confused him; that's my entire goal out of this interview, to confuse him. Saying random, witty things will surely grind his gears, make him flustered. That's what I'm aiming for, though. Sadly, I know I'll let my mentor down, but then again, I'll be dead tomorrow anyways, so it all amounts to the same.

Caesar chuckles creakily, his eyes flickering to President Snow, who stiffly stands up, placing his hands on the edge of the balcony. Caesar glances back to me. "That's very true, Camo. Well, Camo, I hear you're a bit of a rule-breaker yourself."

"What is heard may be unseen, Caesar," I reply mirthlessly. "How do you know that? I'd like to know who told you."

Caesar chuckles, but his laugh is unbelievably forced. "You seem like the type to bend the rules, is all, Camo. No harm, Camo!" he holds up his hands in defense. I scowl, blowing another bubble and popping it loudly.

"You seem religious," I say. "You can't be, though. Too calculating and greedy."

I hear gasps from the Capitol audience, and I receive the dirtiest of scowls form Snow himself. Smirking, I stand up. "A little sarcasm never hurt anybody, now did it?" I holler out, my voice a monotone. "I don't think it's very fair that Mr. Caesar Flickerman over here gets to make jokes at my expense, while I am forced to sit here and take them."

I sit back down, eyes blazing with silent fury.

Caesar asks me more questions—more like taunts, they seem like—about my past. He enjoys watching me squirm to avoid telling everybody how my family was a pack of rebels. All the time I hear "So, Camo" and "Well, Camo" and it… it really gets on my nerves. He's saying my name repeatedly on purpose, just to know that it annoys me.

Atticus. My name is not Camo.

I grit my teeth each time, answering quietly so he must strain his ears to hear me. The crowd of Capitolites seem enraged, glowering at me and making rude gestures with every answer I say. I can't believe the cameras aren't catching this.

"Isn't it exciting, following in your brothers' footsteps?"

I glare at Caesar, who obviously means my impending death. "Oh, I am thrilled. Like a dream come true," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"So this is like a dream for you," Caesar says, almost accusatively.

"Yes, it is, but you see –" I lean in closer to the vibrantly colored man, as if I'm telling him a secret, "at the end of every dream, there is a monster."

As if it were right on cue, the buzzer vibrates loudly, and, like I am celebrating my last night of life, I jump up and shout, "I AM CAMO RUSSO, EVERYBODY! G'NIGHT!"

**Alexis Tress, District Nine**

I watch with bated breath and widened eyes as Camo Russo spits out a wad of gum into a Capitol woman's lustrous lemon yellow hair, then proceeded to parade back to the tribute line, where he soon ran down the aisles, grinning.

Caesar is visibly shaken, his own eyes huge. He stutters out my name, his mirth completely gone. Eager to bring it back, I strut onstage, my silky dress fluttering just above my knees. I hold my head high, and I hope dearly that I look confident.

"Hello, Alexis. How's it going?"

A bit surprised by his lack of emotion, I reply, "I'm very good! Thank you for asking, Caesar." There, I was polite and opening. He now can talk to me.

But he continues his gloominess. "Yes, yes… Anyways, um, Alexis, how's your family doing?"

Grinning despite this unfortunate situation, I say, "My parents aren't very supportive of anything I do, so I dearly hope to prove them wrong! You know how I'm always so hopeful? Nothing can break my mood, nothing!"

Caesar nods feebly. "You're certainly eager, Alexis. Are you excited for the Games?"

I pout. "Not quite, Caesar; I mean, I'd like a little more time with my allies, I guess. Surtr and Lux, they're the best!"

He coughs into his turquoise-clad elbow. "I can see that. How did you three form an alliance?"

"Surtr came to me," I say, batting my eyelashes at the crowd, gaining a wink from a redhead, "around lunchtime one day. Later, Lux and I were training together, and I just asked her to be allies since she looked trustworthy and cool! Tag team effort, really."

"That's fascinating," Caesar says flatly. "So, Alexis, care to talk about that six that you got? Higher than half the tributes, you know."

I giggle, shrugging my bare shoulders. "I just did my best with morningstars, is all. Nothing big, but maybe the Gamemakers liked how I had a fight left in me, after all I've been through!"

There, another opening for him to ask about my past. But Caesar the complete dimwit doesn't see it; he just glances back in the general direction of Camo, his eyes mournful and somewhat irritated. I'm the one who should be getting irritated… hell, he's wrecking my chance to get any sort of sponsors!

I blink, prodding him with the toe of my violet-colored high heel. "Caesar? He-llo?"

The audience gives off an appreciative laugh, and, exasperated, I offer a small grin.

"Right." Caesar blinks, snapping out of whatever trance he was previously in. He glances at the buzzer, then back at me. The corners of my mouth curve up in a very agreeable way. "So, Alexis, do you have a strategy for these Games?"

"Of course I do," I reply confidently, already getting back on track, "my allies are going to be rock solid, sticking together like glue. Nothing's coming in the way of us, Caesar! We're going to protect each other like… well, like a family." I peek back to the line of tributes. Surtr's slightly out of place, standing to the side so he can see me better. He offers me an enthusiastic thumbs-up and one of those ear-to-ear grins that he's so capable of.

Encouraged, I turn back to Caesar and add, "Once we're in the arena, though, we'll hopefully try to just stay in one place, maybe… you know, wait everything out."

"That's a very good plan!" Caesar chirps. "So, Alexis… speaking of the arena, do you have any predictions?"

I'm confused, immensely. "Um, not really… maybe an ocean thing or… desert or jungle?" Why is he asking me this, exactly?

Caesar chuckles. "I don't know, Alexis, but my guesses are as good as yours! The Gamemakers are being very secretive this year, aren't they."

I stare at him. "Yes," I say abruptly.

The buzzer rings, yet I continue to stare at Caesar. What was that last question all about? Really random…

I exit with a small, yet very confused, smile.

**Cohush Nigrum, District Nine**

Alexis trots out, leaning towards me as she walks out, obviously going to tell me something. Her breath ghosts over my ear as she whispers, "District loyalty. Good luck, Cohush."

The simple gesture gives me a bit of courage. Smoothing down my metallic blazer, I wait patiently for Caesar to end his silly pun and to call my name.

"Cohush Nigrum, everybody!"

I patrol along carefully, watching my steps so I don't trip on the tight leather shoes, and shake Caesar's hand. "Nice nails, Caesar. Really colorful."

"Thank you, Cohush!" Caesar adjusts his tie. "I do like turquoise- I mean, how can you not?"

"Exactly," I deadpan, inwardly shaking my head. I flop onto the soft chair that waits for me, ignoring the fact that Caesar basically has to climb onto his.

"So, Cohush! How's the Capitol been treating you?"

I shrug. "Everything's nice, I guess. My mentor, Venial, is helpful, as are the Avoxes. I find it fascinating that they can't talk, even with their tongues being removed. I mean, surely they'd be capable of making some gargled sounds?"

Caesar raises his eyebrows. "You bring up a fine point, Cohush. Sometimes I wonder how they taste food, as well!" He heartily laughs along with the audience, but I sit on the edge of my chair uneasily.

"Well, to correct you, Caesar, they can't taste food. The taste buds, situated all around the tongue, are gone. Smell plays an important factor in taste, so I suppose they might be able to try some foods with heavy scents such as garlic or thickly spiced foods, but otherwise, nothing." I look at him expectantly.

Caesar scratches his temple. "That really is quite fascinating, Cohush. Good to know. So… ehm… have you made any allies yet?"

I shrug grimly, biting my lip. "I tried with the girl from Seven, but she wasn't interested. On any rate, I'm going to be a loner. That's fine, though. I have accepted my impending death."

"_What_?" Caesar's eyes nearly bug out of his head. That can't be healthy. "You've resigned yourself to death, already?"

I nod. "What's there more to say? I'm thirteen, one of the youngest here, and I'm fragile and weak. The other tributes would rip me apart. I'm aware that my patients back home need me, but I'm afraid it just can't be done."

Caesar sits back in his chair, digesting this information slowly, sort of mulling it over. "Are you sure that you're not even going to try?"

"Let's make this easier for you," I try not to snap, but it comes out snarky. "I'll be suicidal. I. Have. Accepted. This. The Hunger Games' odds just weren't in my favor."

He looks at me bleakly. "Well, what are you going to do, then?"

"I'll be a simple bloodbath." I raise my head, puffing my chest out. "I don't mind that my name won't live on in Hunger Games history, Caesar. I'll be a legend back in District Nine. I healed so many, saved so many from death. I suppose that this was just my time to go, you know?"

Caesar shakes his head dejectedly. "I wish you were more of an optimist about this, Cohush, but what's done is done. I won't try to change your mind, on any rate." The buzzer sounds, ringing for a short four seconds. Caesar turns back to me, to the crowd. "Panem, this is… the last you've seen of Cohush Nigrum! For the last time of his young life, give it up!"

**Savanna Poppet, District Ten**

Cohush Nigrum scurries off the stage, ears blood red and his smile quickly diminishing as Nubu laughs. I turn back to my district partner, his face contorted into a sneer. He's so different than what he once was. To be honest, it's a little scary.

"What are you looking at, Poppet?" Nubu's eyes lock on mine eerily, the corners of his mouth curving up into a smile. "Eyeing up your first kill?"

I don't know how to respond. I swallow dryly, trying to avoid his haunting gaze. "Shut up, Nubu. It's my interview. I don't want you to mess it up for me."

Nubu's breath is hot on my exposed shoulder as he breathes, "Good luck, Poppet."

I whirl around, tugging my chestnut hair over my shoulder. "Thanks so much, Nubu," I spit, just as Caesar announces my name. Nubu smirks, watching me as I walk out. I can feel his eyes on me. It's scary, very unnerving.

"Hello, Savanna."

I force a smile, baring my front teeth in the best way I know how. "Hi, Caesar!"

"I must say, I'm dazzled by your beauty—the hair especially." His blue lips peel into a smile. "Did you do anything to it? In the Capitol, I mean, did they do any color-changing treatments on it?"

I shrug. "They of course, like, shampooed and conditioned it, put some mousse and stuff in it, but other than that… All natural." I pinch a little lock from my temple and bring it up to my eyes, scanning over its glossiness.

"Ah, well. I must tell you, it really is beautiful."

"Thanks!" I giggle light-heartedly. "I get it from my mother, really. Dad says that she was the beauty of her class."

Caesar nods approvingly. "I can definitely see the looks passed down through bloodlines!"

"I hope that it will earn me some sponsors," I say, smirking at a camera. Quick to change the subject, because Jamie my mentor told me to mix topics up often, I continue, "Did you know that my crush was Reaped for the Hunger Games?"

Caesar raises an eyebrow. "Really? Who might that be?"

I pinch my wrist. "Elijah Bruno, in the 68th Hunger Games. He died on the second day by the Careers' hands, and _God_, it makes me so freaking mad whenever I watch that replay…" I clench my fingers, trying to control the hot, bubbling rage that's currently burning inside of me. "I don't even know. I guess I'm just upset that my very secret crush, Elijah, died."

Caesar's face pales. "Savanna, may I ask you a question?" I nod. "Savanna, were you the girl that rushed the stage right after Elijah was Reaped, demanding that he be let go?"

It's my turn to blanche. My throat is suddenly dry, my palms are sweaty, and my awesome navy blue dress feels so awkward. "Um, yeah, that was me. I was all young and crazy then, so…" I force a laugh. "A bit unstable, if you will. But look at me now." I flash a grin, swishing the ends of my dress. "Not so unstable now, am I?"

"Not seemingly at all!" he replies smoothly. "We can see your development into a young woman, anyways. Just look at District Tens' Reaping footages, from three years ago until now!"

In response I shrug, grinning.

He asks about my family, and I choke up while talking about Holly and Reno. I miss them so much. I told him how we used to throw tea parties together, go horseback riding on a neighbors' farm, and how innocent Reno was. I poured out my heart to him unintentionally, yet it seemed so… so important.

"Your life must have been the lap of luxury," Caesar sighs happily.

"It really was," I sniffle, swiping at my eyes. My fingers come away with a smudge of blackish mascara.

A buzzer sounds somewhere backstage, and I slowly stand up. Caesar offers me his hand, and I take it. He thrusts our hands in the air, his face a mask of glee. "Savanna Poppet, everybody! The maiden from District Ten!"

**Nubu Chandlers, District Ten**

Savanna giggles onstage, her eyes huge and glossed over with evident tears. I shift my weight from one foot to the next, gauging her excitement. She appears happy, overly happy. I must learn from her mistakes…

Nessa Aoki, behind me, is chattering nervously to her ally and district partner. I glance back, locking eyes with the older boy until he sheepishly looks away. I hold my stare, examining them. I never paid them much mind during training or anything— they got average scores, played around with weapons, I guess. The girl's younger, around thirteen or fourteen, and rather pretty… Bark's my age, if a bit smaller.

Savanna sniffles loudly onstage and my gaze snaps to her. She looks so awkward in front of everybody…

I zone out, fiddling with the knot on my silky crimson tie. I almost don't notice Savanna strolling out towards the elevators and Caesar calling my name.

"Nubu Chandlers, everybody!"

Nessa gently pokes my shoulder, and in reply I offer her an icy, dead stare. It lasts a few seconds, and then I myself walk out to Caesar, flexing my fingers in preparation.

The man offers me his hand, and I shake it almost timidly.

"Hello, Nubu!" he shouts jovially. "Such a joy to have you here tonight! You certainly are a pleasant young man, from what I can infer so far!"

I peel my lips back in a toothy smile. "I consider myself rather tolerable, Caesar. All a matter of opinion, really. Some loathe me, whilst some are my biggest fans."

Caesar purses his lips, somewhat put off. "That's not true, Nubu. While it may seem like it sometimes, you obviously can tell that people like you… correct?"

I shrug. "It's obvious that some feel differently," I smile bitterly. "I can tell, Caesar. For instance, only two of my allies enjoy my presence, whilst the third is rather uptight, nasty, and downright awful."

Caesar exhales, air whistling through his lips. "Nubu, am I right when I say that there will definitely be some drama in the arena, come tomorrow?"

I smirk. "Definitely in my alliance. Drama all the way, Caesar. You won't be disappointed."

He waggles his eyebrows. "I'm definitely looking forward to seeing that, and I can speak for all of Panem, for sure!" He chuckles, and I nod slowly.

"Annabell, Willa, and Jinx and me, we'll put on a good show," I murmur. "Like a force… like an impending wall… like something that just can't be stopped. A charging bull, moving train…"

Caesar laughs nervously, his voice on edge. "Nubu, what is your weapon of choice? Maybe from that, we can infer what sort of drama you'll bring to the arena!"

I decide to tell him; certainly can't hurt. "Traps." I smile sickly. "Traps are good for catching animals, especially. Those who are feral, those who are troubled…"

He's caught off guard by this, simply looking confused instead of frightened or anything. "You're very right, Nubu," he says lightly. The buzzer from backstage beeps frantically, and catching my hand, he pumps it high to the sky. "Nubu Chandlers, everybody!"

**Nessa Aoki, District Eleven**

"Good luck, Nessa. I know you'll do great."

I smile back at Bark, his own beam burning through my worry. I practiced a ton with Seeder; this should be fine. Think only positive things… I'll ace this… I will earn sponsors…. For once, the alliance will be equal…

Nubu Chandlers, onstage, laughs eerily and Caesar replies likewise, but more unsure. I frown slightly as I watch the limber boy. He's unstable, I know that much, but why? He seemed so normal at the beginning, but now… Nothing. I suppose a person can change in four days, but this is insane.

The hem of my short spring-green dress hitches around my kneecap, and I force it down. Nubu's trotting offstage, his forced smirk never wavering from the shrieking, glittery crowd. All too soon, Caesar announces my name and I'm on the stage.

I bare my teeth cutely, eyes darting everywhere. The lights, so bright, are nearly blinding, but I have enough sense to look down onto the hardened floor. "Hi, Caesar," I squeak out.

"Nessa! How are you doing tonight?" Caesar welcomes me wholeheartedly. "I must say, you look rather dashing! That dress perfectly compliments your green eyes!"

I giggle. "Thanks so much. I really like the color green, too. Reminds me of nature!"

Caesar indicates for me to have a seat, which I promptly do. "I'd say. It looks somewhat like an unripe banana. A nice color, nonetheless!"

I shrug, ruffling the hem around my knees bashfully.

"So, Nessa, I'd sort of like to get to know your Hunger Games strategy some more! After all, I'm sure everybody here would love to see a sweet young girl like you, reigning as victor."

Grinning, I answer, "I hope I come home as victor, Caesar. It would be so nice to roll around in the pastures of District Eleven again. I'd get to see my family, my friend, and my two field mice! Kilo and Jimmy are their names." My heart swells as vivid pictures of the sweet mice pop up in my mind.

Caesar closes his eyes just for a second, as if to envision my pets as well. He quickly recovers and asks, "Do you think you are prepared to win, Nessa?"

I swallow. "Well, Caesar, not gonna lie. I'm up against some pretty tough competition, but I do think I have a fighting chance. I'm strong, I'm fast, I've trained so hard over the past few days, and yes, I am prepared."

He nods approvingly. "Wonderful. We always do like to see a girl like yourself, so determined to get back to her homeland! Speaking of homeland, what do you think of mine? The Capitol?"

"Just lovely. So full of color and prosperity, you can just tell."

"Now about your homeland," Caesar transitions briefly, "District Eleven. Tell us, how do you spend time back there?"

"Well, I don't have very much free time since I'm either out working in the orchards or helping my mother around the house, with my sister and other odd jobs. But when I do have some time to myself, I hang out with my best friend, Joshua Kevston, or play with my little sister." I sigh happily, regaling the memories that, up until now, have been blurred.

Joshua gazing into my eyes for just a moment too long. My sister's lilting laugh, echoing throughout the orchards. The fresh splash of the river that runs through the middle of our neighborhood, spraying gently onto my cheeks. I shiver, my fingers twitching with eagerness.

I miss home so much; I really do.

**Bark Umbral, District Eleven**

Nessa's doing great. I watch her with a small sense of pride, observing silently as she answers each question with such detail. She never gives too much away about her own strategy, and I admire her willpower.

I push up the pumpkin orange sleeves of my tuxedo, dabbing at a small bead of sweat that's forming on my forehead. Caesar's wrapping things up, and soon it will be my face that will be broadcasted all over Panem. I'm a bit worried, but otherwise completely confident, letting that emotion override any negative ones.

Caesar grins at Nessa's retreating form, her hair masking half of her face. Her lips curve up into a soft smile and she whispers to me "good luck" before leaving the stage, her dress ruffling in her wake.

"Bark Umbral from District Eleven, everybody!"

My name, music to my ears, is announced loudly to the crowd. Shouts shower me as I stroll onto the stage, and I can't help but allow a grin to split across my face as I stare at the wild crowd. _They're all cheering… for me_.

I don't want this moment to end!

Eagerly, I shake Caesar's hand heartily. "Hello, Caesar! You look great tonight!" I declare. "It's great to be here, just great!"

Caesar's grin isn't as big as mine, but it's not forced, either, which I take to be as a good sign. "It's wonderful to have you here, Bark! You're such a dashing young man yourself!"

I tilt my head to the side good-naturedly, throwing my hands up. "I don't like to brag, really, but I suppose so."

He tosses his flowing teal hair to the side, plopping down on his soft chair. I find a seat on my own, hands running up and down the edges. It's so nice. So soft, so homelike…

"Not to beat around the bush, but I must say that I am curious about your interactions with your district partner!" Caesar shrugs, eyes widening. "Would you be so kind as to embellish on that?"

I offer a gracious simper. "We're allies, actually. Both Chaff and Seeder suggested it."

"Really!" he chortles. "That's amazing, Bark! We do like to see district partners pairing up—district loyalty, we call it!"

"Cool. I see it as a ready-made ally, one you can actually trust instead of wondering constantly about."

The small man snickers. "Right you are, Bark! And let me say, you two must make an excellent team, if I do say so myself."

"Thanks," I reply. "Nessa's great, so kind and loyal. I know that I'm the same, and we just mesh together really, really well!"

Caesar nods knowingly. "Ah, yes. Nessa's definitely a character, isn't she? But now, Bark, onto you. Are you enjoying your stay here at the Capitol?"

"It's okay, in my opinion." I shrug.

"Really? Why do you say that?" Caesar furrows his brows, not masking his emotions very well.

"It's different from my home back in Eleven. There's no trees, animals, any nature, really. The sky is the only thing that's similar. Everything else is so vivid and colorful."

"Ah, you are correct." Caesar nods, puckering his lips. "I can see why you say that, Bark. For some, it's a very different transition, but for others, they slide into Capitol life just like—" he snaps his fingers—"just like that!"

I nod, keeping my smile adjusted perfectly in place, while the cogs in my brain slowly puff out a rhythm. Different from home? Yes. But I really don't see how others could get used to it in an instant… Do they forget about their homes?

I could never forget about mine.

**Annabell Berry, District Twelve**

Bark Umbral finishes up his interview with a humongous grin gracing his face, obviously pleased with himself. Caesar calls out his name one final time, and he skips out—literally— like his body is nothing more than a simple rag doll. I watch with wide eyes as he hops past Surtr and I, his small figure jumping away into the section of elevators.

My knees tremble with the knowledge that I am next. I twist my hair anxiously around my finger, ignoring the fact that the spiraling curls will be mussed up.

"Annabell Berry, Panem, straight from District Twelve!"

Anxiously I mount the steps leading up to the stage, my heart entangled in my throat. I'm so scared… what if I mess up? Who will even consider me for sponsoring if I do the wrong things?

I smile graciously as Caesar bows down, kissing the tips of my fingertips like he's some big gentleman. While his façade is amusing, it's a bit clear that he doesn't actually care for my well-being. It doesn't matter what I think, though; it's all for the crowd, so that they can see that I'm desirable.

"Annabell, it's very nice to see you here tonight!"

I mouth out a thank-you, keeping my eyes firmly planted on the shimmering ground.

"Tell me, Annabell, how is life back in District Twelve?"

I freeze slightly before realizing that I can lie; I can lie and get away with it. I won't have to reveal anything about my father, my voice, anything. I can fake it. And so I do— I offer a good-natured thumbs-up and a slight tilt of my head.

Caesar accepts this. He doesn't push me like I had expected he would, he plods right along. "Do you like charades, Annabell?" I nod faintly. "Well, then, I have good news for you! You don't have to talk if you don't like, you can simply act them out. How's that sound?"

My heart leaps. I'm not one for performing in front of crowds, but if this means I don't have to speak, I am all for it. Rapidly, I nod, hair cascading down my cheeks and touching my shoulders gently.

Caesar smiles. "Well, then, Annabell. What is… your weapon of choice?"

I frown a bit, considering the outcome if I tell him. I decide it's not that big of a deal, seeing as most will watch me using my weapon tomorrow, so I pantomime the throwing of a dart.

"Darts!" Caesar sounds impressed. "They certainly are tricky to use, eh? Requires a balanced mind, much focus, and, of course, flawless aim." I nod, throwing my hands up to symbolize that yes, he is right.

"You're in an alliance, aren't you?"

Nod, nod.

"How do you think of each of them? Let's see, now. There's Willa the bold, um, Nubu the mysterious, alluring guy, and Jinx, the silent but lethal girl from District Six."

I can't find actions to describe how Willa roped me into a friendship and later tacked on a couple more, so I offer some thumbs-up for each of them and a courteous smile, nodding all the while to show how gung ho I am.

"To round this up, Annabell, do you think you can win the Hunger Games?"

My spine stiffens rigidly and I penetrate the ground with my stare. I really don't know. I honestly think I might have the smallest chance of winning, but I mean, I'm not a survivor like Nubu, a leader like Willa, or even a deadly girl like Jinx. I'm just… plain.

The buzzer sounds, freeing me from the unanswerable question.

**Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve**

Suddenly I'm alone as Annabell departs silently for the stage, her misty-colored dress swishing in her wake and her shiny shoes making no sound as they pad along the ground. I slump against the wall, minutes away from being broadcasted all over Panem, and I must admit… I'm not scared.

Like, when Haymitch breezed over interviews, I paid attention, staring him down and even taking little notes. I'm confident. I don't think I could bomb this, and I'm rather positive that I'll do well.

Confidence, though it as never come easy to me, is suddenly plentiful.

Annabell finishes up her interview. She looks rather shaken as she exits, offering me a soft smile. My heart jumps and, without waiting for the signal Caesar Flickerman will give me, I bound onstage feeling like a rabbit on caffeine.

"Surtr!" Caesar sounds surprised. "You must be keen on the idea of your interview, uh?"

"Extremely!" I sing out, leaping onto the platform and onto the squashy chair in no time. "I waited all day for this, Caesar! I'm so excited for this, really. Not the Games, the interview. Heh. You know how it is."

Caesar's face slowly peels into a smile. "I'm glad you're so happy, Surtr. Most tributes aren't as high as a kite like you are come interview time!"

I swish my hand through the air. "They're just nervous, is all. But I can honestly say, I'm not. I'm confident that I can do well tonight!" I grin cheekily at the crowd. "It'll be one heck of a ride, I'm sure."

Caesar chuckles. "Well, let us begin, then!" He shrugs in his tightly fitting turquoise vest. "So… Surtr! I hear you have an alliance?"

"Yes," I say. "Two wonderful girls, Lux and Alexis. Or, as I could call them, Lux 'n' Lex! I'm the odd man out, being the only man of the group, the youngest, and the only one who has no cool nickname, but I feel that out group is quite strong!"

"Really?" Caesar raises an eyebrow. "Fascinating! Why do you think that, Surtr? Surely you'd be scared of the talented Careers from One, Two, and Four?"

"I never said that," I reply, wagging my finger. "Of course, I'm terrified of those guys. So much bigger than me, you know? But on any rate, I think our alliance might be stronger than theirs in compassion and friendship. Alexis and me are already best friends, while Lux is gaining that title as well!"

"Impressive, Surtr! And I hear that you also started that alliance, is that correct?" Caesar leans forward, lacing his fingers into each other.

"You're correct, Caesar. It was lunchtime when I asked Alexis to be allies, and later it was Lux. I couldn't ask for a better alliance, really!"

Caesar grins. "You seem very gung ho about the entire thing. Are you worried that, come tomorrow, you'll be in danger?"

I sigh heavily. "Of course I'm scared. Terrified. But I really do want to get out, Caesar. There's one special girl back home that I'm just dying to get back to…" I inhale. This is it. "Aria Ash. It's sweet like sugar whenever we're together, and when we fought, I died inside. If I come home, it's all for her." Her image flashes briefly through my mind and I allow a gooey smile to spread over me.

Caesar, beaming, is about to say something when the buzzer rings. Clutching my hand as we stand up in unison, he shouts, "Surtr Kayhiv! The little gentleman!"

And as I exit, I hear the deafening crowd scream out, _"MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR, TRIBUTES!"_

**A/N: Hall of Fame by the Script.**

**Interviews. DONE! Only one more chapter until the Games, so for now, you've seen the last of some of the tributes. ;( Sad, I know, but everybody knew the odds.**

**On a happier note, I'm starting a new SYOT! Submissions close on July 6****th****, giving you a bit less than a week to consider what sort of tribute you'll submit, if any. I hope you do; you all make such amazing tributes and I'd love for you to hop on board for another SYOT with me. Anyways, it's the 90****th**** Games, the story and form is on my profile, same with the story, you must review, nanana. :p**

**So, yeah. That's it from me for now. Pleaaase submit, but no more Careers. Outlier males are not plentiful! xD**

**Question tiiiiiiiiime!**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Favorite interview, why?**

**3. Least favorite, why?**

**4. Who surprised you?**

**5. If you had to pick five **_**unexpected**_** bloodbaths, who would you choose?**


	20. More of You

_**This is my kingdom and it needs to fall.**_

**Alexis Tress, District Nine**

From the instant my eyes snap open, I want to cry. I almost do—my eyes well up with salty tears and my lip begins to quiver. But I withstand it, blinking rapidly and pursing my lips, biting them until they hurt.

In less than two hours, I'll be in the bloodbath. Who knows what might happen? I might die before I have a chance to see what's happening, before I can reach Lux or Surtr… Before I even get to see what the arena is.

I'm terrified.

Roland and Venial (mostly Venial) tell me that I have a superb chance with that six. But it was sheer luck that they gave me that. I don't deserve that. I should have gotten a lower score. It's not mine. It should belong to somebody else. I deserve nothing more than a two.

It was sheer luck that each Morningstar flew into the target.

Somebody knocks on my door and I heave myself out of bed to let them in. It's Venial, her glossy jet black hair a surprise. "Why are you here for me?" I ask. "You're Cohush's mentor…"

Venial purses her lips. "Cohush, I'm afraid, is convinced he's going to die," she says, her tone ghosted over with sadness. "I'm here to give you a pep talk."

I wince slightly—I don't need her help. "No offense intended, but where's Roland? He's my actual mentor."

Venial sighs. "He's drowning his sorrows in Pi-Rye Ahoy Crisps. And milk."

"That cereal reminds me of home… Pi-rate, Pi-rye, however you say it." I smile faintly, casting my baby blues down to the carpet. "If you'll excuse me, I'm just going to get dressed for the day…"

"You don't need to," Venial interrupts me. "You can just wear your pajamas down to launch. You might not want to, actually—you're going to be crammed in a hovercraft with eleven other tributes before you get your arena suit…"

"Exactly," I sigh, nudging her shoulder. I just want to be alone. "I think… I think I'm going to get a little more sleep?"

Venial looks at me sternly. "How about if I skip the prep talk, let you talk to Roland alone?"

I shrug, pretending to be indifferent. "I _guess_ that would be fine…"

The edges of Venial's lips curl up slowly, understanding for once that I really do just want to be alone. "Alright. He's in the dining room, if you need to know."

After she leaves, I pull on a random pair of jeans and some maroon top before trotting into the dining room, heels padding along the floor. "Morning," I chirp out to Roland. "What's for breakfast?"

He looks up at me with hollow, strange eyes. "Oh," he mutters to himself, not at all excited to see me.

"What is for breakfast?" I repeat, attempting to get a rise out of the guy. Instead he shrugs, running a hand through his curly brown locks.

"Whatever you want…" he whispers sullenly. "The breakfast of the dead."

I'm sick of him. I'm sick of him acting all depressive and upset and haunted by his past. He could have _some_ say in my future, and he chooses to whittle the time down by shrugging and slurping up soggy cereal. He hasn't helped me; if anything, it's been _Cohush's_ mentor.

Flustered by everything, I throw my buttery blond hair back and snap, "You know, you've been a real pill to work with! I really don't give a crap about who died in your past, your Games, anything like that! Just…. Just build a frigging bridge _and get over it already!_"

Roland's huge eyes look hurt. "Her name was Hydrangea," he says woodenly.

"That's just wonderful, you know? Five years later, she's died, and who's to blame? Yourself. You let her die," I shriek, my vocal cords aching like mad but I don't want to give up the ghost, not when I've already hurt him. "You can help ME, though. I can be your, your new Hydrangea!"

He looks even more wounded than before. "She can't be replaced," says Roland. "It's not in the hollow of my hand anymore, Alexis. I tried, I did. But… she got to her first." His eyes look conflicted. "Eve," he croaks out, voice fading away.

I frown, my plan spinning out of my control. "I can help you remember her," I whine, begging. "If only you'll help me in the arena! If I come back as victor, Roland, we can get over her together!"

Roland's irises dart up to me, soulful brown and somewhat innocent. "You can tell everybody about her," he drawls, not letting go of my gaze, "and… you can _avenge_ her. Like I never got to."

I look at him uncertainly, teetering on my heels and toes, hand extended slightly to him. My hand drifts towards my hip. "Yes," I say, tasting the word on my tongue. "I will avenge her, I'll do whatever I need to. I just need your help in order to. You want her to be avenged… don't you?"

Roland stares at me, eyes widened. "More than anything," he says gruffly. "Alexis, you need to… I will help you, do whatever is necessary! Anything, Alexis, anything!"

I can't believe my plan actually worked. It's going to go down in cycles—firstly, in the arena, he'll shower me with sponsor gifts when I need, then, if all goes well and according to this twisted plan, I'll win, and I'll tell the entire nation of Panem about his… his lover, Hydrangea, or whoever she was.

Roland is so broken, it feels wrong to take advantage of him. But it's the Hunger Games. I mean, _everything_ is wrong.

**Constance von Trapp, District One**

Gloss's eyes are like sparkling, beautiful chocolates trapped in a sea of white. I've spent hours gazing directly into them, all the time cursing myself for not enjoying this time more. I mean, I'm enjoying it so much already, but I have a feeling that somewhere inside of me, there's room for more love.

Gloss trusts me, as do I. It was after the first kiss that I confided in him, and each time he's listened as intently as the last. Each dark secret is fuel to the fire of our love.

When I wake up, yawning and stretching my arms high above my head, my thoughts immediately turn to him. Smacking my lips noisily and blinking sluggishly, I toss the covers off of the bed and swivel my legs to the ground.

Cashmere and Gloss both are in the kitchen. Uneasily, I make my way through the door into the living room, the muted sounds of their argument slipping into my ears.

"You can't fall in love with a tribute," Cashmere growls. I can imagine her dirty scowl. "You're mentoring her, for God's sake. What if she dies, Gloss? You know that the odds are against her in every way!"

"I have faith in her, Cash!" Gloss argues back, his tone high-strung. "That nine wasn't there for nothing, you know!"

"Really?" hisses his sister, and I inch closer to the doorframe. "What about that girl from Six, huh? She got a ten, and she hasn't been training her entire life, Gloss. Constance, for all we know, could be the weakest link in the Career alliance!"

I gasp silently, my hand flying up to my mouth to muffle it. She thinks I'm _weak?_

Gloss makes a sound of frustration. Cashmere perseveres. "You know her family's history of volunteering has all been flunks. She's clinging to a false hope that she'll break the mold, when all signs point to… to treachery!"

I clench my fists, nostrils flaring. How dare she implant Gloss with false information! I'm special, he said so himself! He believes in me, believes that I can break the mold and bring honor to my family! Cashmere's the enemy, here, not the tributes that I soon could be killing!

Gloss speaks, but I only catch a few words. "She's not… all wrong… going to be killed... won't save… not a victor… break up… heartbroken!"

I bite my lip, my eyes boring holes into the thick carpet. From what it sounds like, Gloss is telling Cashmere he agrees with her… But he wouldn't! He would never. He's… he's _my_ Gloss, after all…

I fiddle with the drawstrings on my jet black sweatpants, pulling at the stretchy material of my lavender tank top. Should I confront him? Is he going to break up our relationship?

Cashmere hisses one more thing at him, her voice laced with venom. "If you don't do it now, Gloss, you'll sorely regret it."

Gloss's voice falters, failing him of words. I slide my feet so my toes are just centimeters away from the open doorframe, yet we cannot see each other. My throat is dry, heart in my mouth. My thoughts are battling it out, conking each other, giving me a mammoth headache.

Gloss's voice comes back, hardened and determined. "Stay out of my life, Cash. If she dies, I swear I'll do every frigging little thing you tell me to do about my futuristic love life, swear. But I have faith in Constance. I have a feeling she's going to come home. So until then, just stay out of my life."

Heavy footsteps, a gasp, and a sigh laced with disappointment echo around the kitchen, and with tears in my eyes, I run back to my bedroom, heart officially ripped out and trampled upon.

Why didn't Cashmere just stay out of our relationship? I want to scream at her. It may be unorthodox, but who cares? It's true love, and until she can come up with a plausible reason why Gloss and I should be separated, we're staying together. I'm going to come back, going to win for him.

I swear.

A quiet knock at my door echoes around the room. With puffy eyes, I stare at the door. "Who is it?" I find myself asking, but it's flat.

"It's me, Connie."

Gloss. My heart thumps rapidly and I scramble to the mirror, making sure I look decent, before I slowly open the door. He stands there, a conflicted look on his face. It's adorable.

"Constance, we need to talk."

I know what's coming, and I'll do anything to stop it. Frantically, I throw my arms around him tightly, feeling the muscles and contours of his back, trying to do something to delay this. I don't want Gloss to say those fated words. I want us to be together, that's all I have ever wanted, ever since I was a measly teenager back in District One, staring at a magazine with Gloss's picture on the front with Tempera…

"I've decided that it's for the best if we just don't talk to Cashmere any more."

With wide eyes I step back, staring at him. He's choosing me over his own sister? I…. I can't believe it. He's so loyal, so faithful. I doubted him…

Without a word, my fingers weaving their way through his soft hair, I stare deeply into his eyes, my mind tangled in thoughts, worries… only one thing is clear.

_I love you, Gloss._

**Bark Umbral, District Eleven**

Nessa paces back and forth, her eyes set grimly on the clock ahead. "I'm just so scared…" she keeps mumbling. I keep assuring her that it really will be alright, but she just isn't listening. To be honest, I wouldn't be listening if I were her, either.

She's so young. She doesn't have that much of a chance. She's quite lucky she has me as an ally to protect her, really. This way, at the very least, we can both try to make it past the bloodbath.

It's less than an hour…

I shiver, pulling my ceramic bowl chock full of cereal closer to me, though I'm not hungry at all. I need to get back. I need to see Mom, Dad, and Murray again. I can beat the odds…sure… I mean, look at Finnick…

A moaning sound comes from the living room and, clutching my silver spoon, I glance backwards. There's Nessa, being so dramatic as she holds her stomach. She must be terrified. I don't blame her, though. I'd be the same if I were in her boat—I'm lucky, really, to be fifteen and more experienced. I'm speedy and good with my hands. I can use this to my advantage, right?

Chaff and Seeder come into the kitchen. Seeder's light footsteps are barely noticeable, whereas Chaff slams the fridge door behind him, belching rather loudly. He smells of beer. I flinch.

"Would you like to talk?" Seeder asks, flashing her white teeth for a moment. "Any last minute advice you want to know?"

I stare at her uneasily, brokenly, before all of a sudden letting out an animal-like cry and vomiting. I don't get it. I wasn't quivering in fear like Nessa… I wasn't scared!

More bile slips up my throat, but I forcibly swallow it, eyes blending with indistinguishable tears. My nose is running, and I feel so cold… And there's Seeder, looking at me in pure pity, not even doing anything, while Chaff… he's pouring himself a drink into a silver flask! He doesn't care at all!

"Nobody cares," I bleat out, my eyes wide and frightened. "Nessa and I are both going to be martyrs, and nobody gives a crud about this!"

"I care," Seeder tells me quietly, but I push her away.

"No! No, you don't!" I cry, flinging my spoon down at the table. My nervous little intakes of breath turn shaky, and eventually, they turn to cries. I can't do this anymore…

A soft ding makes me whip my head to the side questioningly.

"That's the alarm to tell you to go down to the training center," Seeder murmurs. "From there, you'll get instructions to go onto your designated hovercraft."

I stare down at the table, my stomach churning. "Are you coming with us?" I sniffle down a cry.

"Of course, Bark," Seeder soothingly assures me. "Chaff will, as well. We'll be with you up until the hovercrafts, all right?"

I tug uneasily at the bottom of my shirt. "All right…" I whisper, plucking one dry cereal from the bowl and nibbling. Suddenly, I'm not so hungry…

The elevator waits ominously for us, and the tributes from District Twelve are in it. Their mentor's not here—Haymitch, is it? Surtr's beady black eyes bore into the back of my skull, while Annabell, his partner, sighs softly every so often. Nessa trembles by my side. I don't even know when we start holding hands.

District Ten boards, Nubu and Savanna side by side. Nubu holds my gaze, smiling brokenly and allowing his eyes to twitch. Savanna muffles a sob, her eyes puffy with tears, and their mentors, both females, watch them silently.

From there, the elevator slides right down, its capacity filled. I run my finger along the grooves in the wooden walls, maybe for the last time. I could be standing right next to my potential murderer. I shiver at the thought, averting my eyes from Nubu to the ground. Soon, Savanna's deadened cries are the only sound at all in the packed elevator.

The training center is a welcome difference, so spacious and airy. I trot out of the elevator silently, my fingers still laced in Nessa's. For support or for sanity? I don't even know.

The rest of the tributes file in, forming a lumpy circle around Atala, the head trainer. She smiles at everybody, meant to put us at ease. Her smile to me is rather menacing. I don't return it.

Once the last tributes—the two from District Three—have shuffled into the circle, Atala begins a speech. "Tributes," she announces, her voice high and somewhat exotic, "Yuh have all come so far. Yuh've trained till you've dropped, and now is the time to unleash all of th't anger. Th't anger will be the price of… death." As a hush falls over the chattering Careers, she cackles. "It's time to release the monster buried up inside of all of yuh, tributes!"

Nessa gasps quietly.

"Now, aside from th't pep talk, let's talk hovercrafts. Form two rows, one of each district so that yuh are seperated from your district partner. Should be twelve in each row, and don't think we won't know if yuh swap with another district so yuh can be with your district partner!"

With a reluctant hug, Nessa and I part to split into two rows. Suddenly, I'm between the bulky guy from District Two and the menacing, witchy girl from District One. I try to worm my way to be with some gentler-looking tributes, but the girl simply cackles with glee and shoves her arm in front of me.

"From there, tributes, yuh all will be escorted into your hovercrafts. Take a seat, but in the end, yuh'll wind up sitting next to somebody. Only twelve seats."

Atala gazes out at all the rest of the tributes, a small smile gracing her face. She looks almost pretty. "All right. Go out…. And yes, may the odds be ever in your favor."

The line shuffles, and the girl pushes me to keep me going. I tread softly behind the black-haired guy—Slate, is it?— and out the doors of the training center. Light floods my vision. I can barely see.

Then the hovercraft comes into view, and my heart stops.

_My death machine._

**Arthur Augustus, District Three**

The hovercraft looms above, casting shadows over the little girl in front of me. Leaf from Seven. I made it my duty to remember everybody's name, and her name is Leaf Ender. Cliché, really. District Seven is trees, and her name is Leaf… how funny…

The platform to the hovercraft looks like a ginormous playground slide. My feet itch to run up it and slip down it, but I know that I must stay strong, curbing my instincts. I must take this seriously.

Alister, behind me, snorts as Leaf slips down the bottom, her footing lost. "Bloodbath," I hear him murmur to himself. Uneasily, I glance at him. He's piercing the ground with his stare.

I don't like when he acts like this, all harsh and masked from the world. I liked him better at the beginning, when he was all happy to be my ally and we were at chariots, laughing over our district partners. Why can't we be like that now? Why does he have to be so…. Brutal?

He told me, I know. Alister told me yesterday when we were chilling out before interviews. Said that he's trying to develop some sort of shell to protect himself. No mercy? Just coldness to others? It sounded more to me like he was trying to convince _himself_ that he would be alright, not me.

I step inside the hovercraft, the first one to do so since Leaf slipped. I gaze around the small, long room for a moment before selecting a seat near the middle, patting the seat next to me for Alister to take. He's rather cautious as he plods around the room, eyes flickering to each contour and detail of the room.

Slowly the other tributes shuffle in, Leaf at the back. She scampers to take the seat next to Alister, while Surtr Kayhiv plops down next to me. His face is conflicted, and he keeps muttering to himself, looking wistfully out the window to the other hovercraft, where both of his allies are.

A slim lady with frizzy black hair stops at the first tribute down the line— Nessa Aoki from District Eleven. With a squeak and a very pale face, Nessa allows a needle to be slid into her arm, injecting something that glows right through the skin. "Your tracker," the skinny woman tells her.

"Wouldn't that hurt?" I ask Alister, my eyes widening.

"It's gonna hurt," he mutters.

"Why would they hurt us before the arena, Alister?"

He glances sideways at me. "That's not the point. They're doing it so that they can track us anywhere in the arena."

I furrow my eyebrows, waiting for the cogs in my brain to puff out the answer, and slowly, they do. "Ohhhh, so you mean if we are hidden under a tree or something?"

"Yes, Arthur."

"Oh, that makes sense now." I settle back in my chair, snuggling into the somewhat rough fabric.

The woman doesn't come back until the hovercraft flies into the air. Though the littler tributes murder their ears with their fingers as their eyes squint with pain, I'm proud to stay perfectly stock still, even though my ears hurt a little. It's not that different, but there's the background music of the engines puffing out air and your ears sort of pop.

The slight lady comes down the line with a new needle each time until she reaches me. With fascination, I stare at the needle, which is a bit opaque. You can see the fluorescent sky blue color, just waiting patiently inside, ready to be shot into your arm.

"Will this hurt a lot, or just a little?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "A lot, I guess. Just don't think about it and you'll be fine, kid."

I watch with wide eyes as she swipes away at my forearm with some cold wipe, then she places the needle almost sideways to my arm. With bated breath, my breath hitches as all of a sudden the blue gob is glowing faintly inside my arm. I didn't feel much, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

I slump back in my chair, trying to assemble my whirling thoughts. Alister told me yesterday that our best bet would be to simply rush in, snag a backpack or two, and a weapon. He assigned me to find a good backpack near the edge, while he'd run in to grab a weapon.

But what if he…. _Doesn't make it out?_

Nope. I refuse to think that.

Instead, I lean back, trying to catch a small catnap before we land. Sleep… sleep will help me. It _always_ has.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

The hovercraft begins its very slow descent. I lean back into the chair, closing my eyes for a brief moment of peace. For once in my life, I feel like I'm not in control of what's to come to me… and to be honest, that scares me.

Annabell, next to me, trembles quietly as the man passes by us with the thin needle. She was terribly afraid when it was her turn to be injected, shuddering and gagging over and over. I felt for her, held her hand. She was so scared…

Nubu, who's on my right, stiffens in his chair, trying to look out the window. "Looks cloudy," he murmurs. "Can't get a good view of the arena."

"You're not intended to," snaps the thin man that carries the needle. "It's not anything. That's actually just a poster of clouds pasted up over the actual window. Budget cuts from District Six, you know." He glares in Jinx's general direction, who's sulking by Annabell.

Nubu slides down in his seat, sighing lightly. "Only fifteen minutes left, judging by the clock," he mutters. "Just think of the bloodshed…" his blue eyes flicker over to me, then away.

"Already ahead of you," I reply, tracing a circle on my jeans. "I'd really like to just get this over. The waiting is painful, literally killing me."

The corner of Nubu's thin rose-colored lips quirk up a bit. "How do you know you won't be killed before you have a moment to think?"

I stare down at the ground, put off by his negative comment. "I'm not sure," I say softly. "But at least it would be quick, better than waiting in anxiety forever."

Annabell coughs. Nubu exhales in a slight laugh, while Jinx maliciously cackles. I shift uneasily in my seat. When I made this alliance, I expected Annabell to be my supportive best friend, Nubu to be the love interest, and Jinx to be the protector over us all. It's blowing up in my face. Now Annabell's the gawky, silent girl, Nubu is slowly losing his wits, and Jinx… I don't even know about her.

I curl a tendril of buttery blond hair around my finger, feeling my eyes slip shut slowly. I don't want to die… but the wait is even worse.

"Twelve minutes till the bloodbath," Nubu moans under his breath.

"Would you shut up?" I snap uneasily, leaning forward to rest my chin in my hands. "I'm trying to think here."

"Think about what? Are you going to go over a strategy with us, oh wise leader?"

My eyes widen slightly—Nubu is right. I forgot to sketch out a bloodbath strategy for us. I considered it briefly last night over a supper of various soups, but never breezed over the idea any time after that.

"Right," I mumble, pulling Annabell into the group and motioning for Jinx to lean in. She complies with a thick sigh.

"Um, here's what I'm considering. Annabell and Nubu, you two find each other and quickly select a good spot for us to go to. Jinx and I will run in to try and grab some supplies—rather, I'll get the supplies, and Jinx, can you cover for me?"

A nod.

"Great, so it's settled. We'll look for you—Nubu, you can yell to us if you see us looking for you, just a simple shriek or something like that. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Epic." I lean back in my chair, feeling somewhat accomplished. The hovercraft takes a dip and I lurch forward, my hand clutching Nubu's.

I will fight, I know. If one of the tributes on my team goes down, I'll avenge them. There will be no time for mercy, it's the Hunger Games. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep my alliance safe, bonded, and like a family.

But in the end? I'll be a victor. I _need_ to be a victor, bring honor and glory to my district. District Eight has been slipping, the Capitol hasn't been taking us seriously. I remember news of a revolt, a few years ago, that was quickly shut down.

I lean uneasily on one elbow, making Nubu glance over at me. I shake my head, signaling that I'm fine, I'm fine, really I'm okay…

Inwardly, I'm screaming.

**Francis Theroux, District Six**

The hovercraft touches ground and the woman gives us the signal to unbuckle out seatbelts. I comply eagerly, breaking free from the restraints.

The floor seems to split open, revealing ground. The line of tributes silently treads off, me at the rear. We meet up with the other row of tributes, and I see Jinx and her entire alliance, treading towards the stocky woman.

Every tribute gets some sort of directions. She goes off on this long speech about how we'll be privately escorted to our launch room, but I'm only half-listening. My thoughts are elsewhere, as I can see that we've landed in some sort of large, underground room. The roof overhead must have sealed up. With a dry gulp, I realize that we're underneath the very place where almost all of these people will lose their lives…

With a start, I feel movement rushing around me and see brightly colored stylists head to their tributes, seemingly hidden. I stand up on my tiptoes, searching for my own stylist, Jamba. I see her, dark skin and silver dreadlocks standing out above the crowd, and dart to her side.

"There you are, Francis," she murmurs, her usually raspy voice soft. "Come, I'll lead you to the room."

I follow her like a baby lamb to its mother, clinging to the edge of her tasseled maroon shirt. It's just a maze of hallways, none of which I could possibly have remembered the sequence we went through, but finally she comes to a room she decidedly likes, pausing at the door and pushing it open.

It's a regular room, with walls freshly painted slate grey. The tiled floor and living room-like interior betray the fact that the tube to take me up to the arena is in the center of the room, ominously waiting.

I gulp.

Jamba's very busy, ruffling around the drawers until she selects something in my size. She holds it out to me proudly. I examine it— somewhat flannel-like material, combined with a mesh-like fabric, so there are artificially made holes over a softer material. It's black with lemon yellow stripes crossing over the entire thing.

"Do you like it?" Jamba asks, her voice breathy and anxious. "The Gamemakers spent months creating the perfect blend of materials!"

"Mesh, flannel, and… is that cotton I feel?" I murmur, rubbing my fingers vigorously over the jumpsuit. "Splendid!"

Jamba giggles mysteriously. "The suit itself gives almost nothing away, but the mesh might represent fabric that needs to breathe. It's not too heavy, nor too light, so it could be any temperature, really." She bustles back to the chest of drawers before pulling out some thick black boots. "These symbolize running, as you can see from the thick treads and friction-inducing rubber soles. I don't think it will be a watery arena, then."

I slip the boots on. They're nearly the perfect size, but they're a bit heavy and warm for me. I slide them off, taking the yellow and black jumpsuit instead.

Jamba brings out the final pieces of the outfit— a slim-fitting black tank top, or a 'wife-beater' as she calls it, some tight-fitting black shorts, thin yellow socks, and… and a hat.

"We haven't seen hats in the arena for years," she marvels, running her hand over the brim. "So rustic, really. It gives me some clue of what the arena may be, but I have a feeling you'll decide it for yourself, too."

I stare at it— nothing special, really. It's a plain looking hat with a thin rope running just above the brim, the color a blackish-brownish hue. I frown slightly as I adjust it on my head. Could use some splashes of color… even mauve would do, just to brighten the dreary thing up…

Jamba turns away as I silently slide the outfit on, and once I'm done and walk over to the mirror, she squeals in delight. "You look absolutely adorable, Francis! I could just eat you up!"

I blink.

"Metaphorically, of course," she adds briskly.

I frown slightly.

"Um, do you want something to eat? Drink?" Jamba avoids my stare by hurrying over to the small fridge right next to the chest of drawers, wrenching out a water bottle and an apple. "You might want to, Francis. Who knows what the arena will be like?"

I accept both quietly, ignoring the indignant shrieks of my stomach. I can only hope that I won't have a vision as I stand on the plate, therefore causing me to lurch and explode…

"You okay, Francis?" Jamba frowns. "In all my years of being a stylist, never have I seen a tribute so down before. I mean, it's acceptable and all that, but…"

I shrug. "Just the nerves, I guess. I don't know what the arena will bring, but I plan to use the skills my visions gave me to the maximum." I nod, self-satisfied, and Jamba raises an eyebrow. "You wouldn't understand. They're just…. Nothing. Nothing at all, not important." I take a large swig of water.

Jamba gives me a hearty chuckle, her eyes flickering over to the clock. "Thirty seconds till launch, Francis. I suggest you take another drink and then head to the tube."

My eyes glaze over for a moment, my mouth dry despite the water. This is it. I am finally going into the arena, and Jamba... she's so calm about it…

Numbly, I step into the tube, therefore sealing my fate.

It closes nearly immediately, and Jamba gives me a sad sort of wave. Her eyes follow me as the clock ticks down, second by second. Finally, the skinny clock hand lands on the ominous '12'.

The tube rises suddenly, making me stumble. I catch my balance on the side of the tube, frantically slapping the glass with my hands. I'm feeling rather claustrophobic…

The roof above me splits into two. I watch with wide eyes as light filters into the tube, streaming into my eyes. A nasty, pungent smell fills my nostrils and I exhale quickly to get the stench away. My eyes widen, taking all the sceneries in.

And with a quick flick of my head to address anything more, I gasp.

_This is hell._

**A/N: More of You by Colton Dixon.**

**Woah, man. Already to the Games. Just couldn't help myself, had to update early, but yeah. Anyways. :) So. WHATGHFEG this is insane, like, seriously. I never expected the arena to come this early around, and I personally thank each of you for submitting and giving me amazing tributes to work with. So, yeah.**

**Oh, and the funky POV thing for this chapter? I just used a tribute from every two districts. Like, Constance for Districts One and Two, Arthur for Three and Four, Francis for Five and Six, etc. **

**WOAH, QUESTIONS.**

**1. What do you think of each POV?**

**2. Favorite POV and why?**

**3. Predictions for the next chapter (very broad)?**

**4. What do you think the arena will be?!**


	21. The Arena

_**The arena, the arena, this is our world stage.**_

_**The arena, the arena, this is our death cage.**_

**Serafina Aegis, District Two**

My eyes flicker around to the whole arena, nostrils flaring to inhale that sharp odor. Manure, is it? I wouldn't know. I whip my head to the side, only to see the cocky little guy from District Ten, arms crossed and eyes focused on the Cornucopia. He'd know.

On my other side, by sheer luck, is Coral. Her soft eyes are huge, brows thickening as she surveys the area. On one end, a large maroon barn with a dusty dirt path. On the other, pastures as far as the eye can see.

How _lucky_ we are to be smack in the middle.

I lick my lips, watching the clock carefully. Forty seconds left to grab my game plan, contain my wits. I pull at the scarlet and black flannel jumpsuit. Sweat's already pricking at my armpits and forehead, making its way down my nose. I touch my French braid, slowly tucking it into the top.

My breath hitches as I see my katana, tucked neatly into a backpack. The thin blade shimmers in the dying sunlight. Speaking of dying sunlight… I cast my eyes up, mouth parting a bit. The sky's ominous, blackish clouds taking over. If this keeps up, we just might have rain mingling with the blood in the bloodbath.

_Thirty_ seconds.

My hands slip inside the collar of my shirt, finding the snowflake token and the thin string that ties it to my neck. It'll bring me comfort. It always does. I calm down almost immediately as I feel its cold, metallic prongs, pricking my fingers just enough so that they don't hurt.

I hear a slight laugh to my right. Nubu Chandlers is giggling, his mouth stretched into a wide beam, his eyes dilated with glee. He knows he has an advantage. I saw him before—he's unstable. If he knows he has an advantage, but he's not in the right mindset to use it…

That could mean a sociopath on our trail.

I tuck my token back into my shirt, staring at the katana intently. I must get that. It's going to be my only task to get that…

_Twenty_ seconds.

All of a sudden, I hear a piercing wail coming from about seven plates over. Everybody's head snaps to stare at the little boy from District Nine, the one with the frizzy hair and quiet smirk. He's waving his arms frantically, mouth open in a shriek.

"Excuse me!" he hollers, his voice so _youthful_. "Whoever is my murderer, I'd just like you to tell my family, provided you go home as victor, that my patients won't be fine without me?"

"Shut up!" Brucite grumbles from the plate next to him.

"I-I-I'm just saying. I'll be open to death! I'll accept it!" the boy shrilly yelps. "Just a quick impalement would be fine, thank you! Nothing more, please! Nothing more!"

"Nobody cares!" replies Brucite, his eyes clouding over with ferocity.

The boy looks put off by this, but he shuts his mouth smartly. Still dumbfounded by his death wish, I shake my head, turning back to the Cornucopia. I'll kill him if he really wishes, but I won't like it. I won't like it at all…

I'm just doing this for my father. I'll come home as victor for my father alone, not on my own terms.

_Ten_ seconds.

Nubu's loud breathing hitches.

_Nine._

Coral exhales from next to me, and when I glance over at her, I see her gaze firmly locked on one person alone— Percy, her district partner.

_Eight._

My eyes widen as I realize this is it.

_Seven._

This is what I've trained for my entire life, wished for. Rather, it's my father's dream, implanted into my skull.

_Six._

I flex my fingers, steely eyes staring right at that katana. It's the only one, my only hope…

_Five._

The little boy from District Nine lets out a plagued howl.

_Four._

I inhale sharply, breathing in for one last time.

_Three._

I hold my breath as the timer clicks into a different number.

_Two._

My heart seems to stop, and for a moment, I forget that I'm still, in everybody's opinion, just a child. A child, murdering other children. I'm nothing better than the rest of the serial killers. But I must. I must if I intend to live up to my father's twisted expectations…

_One._

The timer clicks into 'zero' and, as if by magic, a gong strikes loudly.

All hell breaks lose.

I run forward, pumping my arms rapidly. Everything around me seems to slow down. I don't see Nubu beside me, nor do I see Coral. For all I know, they could have been tackled already. My eyes are locked in on the prize, the katana that's half-hidden inside that backpack…

Next to me, there's the blond girl from Three, Alessandra Balis. Her eyes are wide, lips panting out a steady beat, as she tugs the bag away from my grip. I manage to kick my leg out just above her ankle, effectively tripping her as she tries to run away. I yank my katana from the backpack, but before I have a chance to impale it through her neck, there's an arrow notched into her widened eye.

My eyes fly upward to see Percy, his gaze stony and merciless. He doesn't look at me, just at Alessandra, and as her hands fly up to her left eye to try and heal it, there's another metal arrow, this one flying right for her throat.

Just like that, she goes limp.

My eyes widen and I stutter out a weak thank-you to Percy. He doesn't pick up my gaze, simply grabs another arrow from his quiver and whips his head around to look for another target. Thinking likewise, I wrap my fingers around my katana, whipping my head around for one as well.

All of a sudden, I see Brucite, a heavy mace in his hand as he darts straight for a quivering little girl. I don't even know why I stare. Before I know what's happening, my arms are pumping, suddenly free of the katana, and I throw myself in front of the girl before I have a second to think. The mace slices into the front of my chest, staining everything around me with my own crimson blood.

All I saw was Bellona, only Bellona. The girl I'd do anything to protect.

And just as my eyes slip shut, Leaf Ender bleats out a weak cry.

**Jinx Tesatsu, District Six**

"You ready, Jinx?" Willa breathes, staring me. She looked awed at the first sight of bloodshed, when really she should be glad. The numbers are really dwindling down. I just saw the girl from District Two fall under the mace of Brucite. There, one fierce competitor down.

"Readier than I've ever been," I reply, my tone rich and cold.

Matching strides, we run into the chaos, her eyes ogling up the twin black backpacks, side by side. They look heavy, a very good sign. Willa chose wisely. My own eyes lock in on a long, curved hunting knife that lies just beyond the backpacks. Pumping my arms to gain momentum, I push myself forward and snatch up the knife, metal whistling in the air.

At that exact same moment, I see Cohush Nigrum, kneeling on his launch pad, arms outstretched to the heavens. Such an easy target. The corners of my mouth turn up. I'd love to tackle him, carve designs into his ripe flesh…

But then I hear a grunt and I whip my head to the side, eyes widened. Willa's tussling with the girl from Four, Coral. Neither of them have a weapon, but Coral's obviously stronger and more fit, despite being a Reaped Career. I battle with myself— do I go for the easier kill, Cohush, or do I save my ally? My legs, unsure of where to go, shake nervously, and suddenly they're bolting towards the wrestling girls.

Coral pins Willa, her face triumphant and somewhat awed. "I'm sorry, Willa, but I have to do what I have to do to get home…" Her words contradict her small smile. I recognize that expression. She didn't know her own strength. Yeah, wahoo, wonderful moment for _you_. I frown bitterly, charging in with my knife.

Coral's head snaps up at the last moment and she gasps loudly, scrambling to her feet. Willa's abdomen is pinned beneath Coral's heavy black boot and she squeals, limbs flailing like an insect.

"Not you…" the girl's face pales as she sees my hunting knife.

I smile resentfully. "Yup, it's me. Should've paid more attention, wannabe. You might have realized that I allied with Willa…"

Coral's jaw goes slack and she lets out a piercing howl, clambering inside the Cornucopia. As much as I'd love to hunt her down, my main priority here is to get my alliance out safely, and that includes Willa. I'll have plenty of time for torture later. When we're _all_ safe.

I heave a backpack up to my shoulder and motion Willa to come along. She follows, her face conflicted.

That's when I see him. Cohush Nigrum, still unnoticed. His eyes are wide with pleading. I don't even murmur out a "be right back" to Willa, I charge over and swoop down, plucking him off the ground with one arm. He's so light.

"What are you doing to me?" he bleats out.

"You have a death wish, don't you?" I hiss out, grinning madly.

Willa turns around to try and look for me, and when she sees Cohush, his small form thrown over my shoulder, she gasps. "Jinx! What are you doing with him?!"

I shrug, trotting after her to Annabell and Nubu. Annabell's silent, her arms crossed defensively, and Nubu holds a thin sword— a katana, is it?

"A Career chucked it and I just ran for it," he says in his defense. "That's all I grabbed, don't worry."

Willa shrugs. "As long as you made it out alive, and now we have two weapons!"

Cohush lets out a cry, but I ignore him. "Where are we going to?" I breathe heavily. "The pastures?"

Nubu gestures downhill with the katana. "Yeah, I see a woods beyond the cornfield. That would provide lots of ample room, wouldn't it?"

"Perfect!" Willa replies, perfectly cheery. She glances at our backpacks, and frowns for a moment. "Do you think we should go back and get something?"

"We're good," Nubu answers, shaking his head. He already started jogging downhill. "Two weapons and two big backpacks, plus…. A boy. I think that we're good."

I resist the urge to cackle like a witch, sprinting after my allies. Cohush is shrieking now, placing a huge target on our backs, but I ignore him. Boughs of cornstalks smack into my face as we charge directly into the cornfield, so I bring my knife in front of me, taking the lead. Annabell follows not long behind, while Willa brings up the rear.

The weight on my shoulder is getting heavier and louder, and all of a sudden, I stop. "Go on without me," I pant, throwing my pack at Annabell. "I'll be right with you."

Willa's mouth is contorted into a grim O. "Why? We're not leaving you, Jinx!"

"Do what I say, Willa," I hiss back. "I promise. I wouldn't abandon you all."

Her blond eyebrows draw together worriedly. "Fine. Nubu, you can stay with her and keep guard, and Annabell and I will trek downwards and find more shelter. Deal?"

"Sounds good. We can always yell."

Nubu looks somewhat outraged and terrified at the notion of having to be alone with me, but for now I have no intention of being his murderer. He hangs back, masked by a few cornstalks, and I get busily to work.

I throw Cohush to the ground, and he winces, holding his stomach. "What are you doing…" his breath comes in ragged pants, and his eyes are widened in fear.

I pin him to the ground, my heavier form crushing his frail physique. Nubu takes a sharp intake of breath as I make the first cut— just a line across his forehead. A howl pierces the air as Cohush's head begins bleeding.

All of a sudden, I hear thrashing from behind us and slight laughter. My grip on my hunting knife tightens and I whip my head back. The laugh belongs to Coral Fisher, the girl who narrowly got my knife in her abdomen. But she's not alone. I hear a manlier laugh… Brucite.

They're stalking me alone, I know it. No doubt fully equipped…

With wide eyes, I gesture to Nubu to move on ahead. He wastes no time in high-tailing it behind Annabell and Willa. Turning back to Cohush, I bring the knife down. A fountain of blood gushes out of the wound in his neck, quickly fading into the dusty ground. Cohush's eyes close and his lips part gently. Without turning around to face the oncoming Careers, I slink through the corn boughs, tracing Nubu's footsteps.

If they somehow manage to find us, I'll be ready for them, one step ahead of the game. It's all this is. A _sick_, twisted game.

**Percy Brizo, District Four**

I keep my eyes on Coral's retreating form, Brucite trailing her with his bloody mace. They're chasing after Jinx, the girl from District Six who nearly took Coral's life. I want to follow them, push Brucite out of the way to chase Jinx with my district partner, but I know that I must defend the supplies, I have to stay strong.

I whip my head around, trying to search for my fellow Careers, but all I see are Slate and Constance… Where did Serafina go?

I sprint towards Slate, who's sizing up Savanna Poppet, when I trip over a body. Spitting out dirt, I slowly turn my head to see… _Serafina_.

She's crushed. Her jumpsuit is stained with crimson, especially around the torso. Her shocking eyes are still wide-open, spine locked stiffly. Is she… is she dead? I sling my bow around my elbow and kneel, shaking her shoulders roughly. Her head bobbles back and forth. I feel sick.

Gingerly, I peel away part of her jumpsuit to reveal her chest, and there's a sight I immediately regret seeing. Rib bones jut out at odd angles, her ribs obviously crushed. I pull the flannel-like material back immediately, bile rising up in my throat and scorching my mouth.

I shakily get up, eyes still locked on Serafina's deadened ones. I just can't believe that a fierce competitor such as herself would fall so _early_… and who would do such a thing?

Ben McMhon, the young kid from District Seven, foolishly runs past me into the heart of the Cornucopia. In my rage, I strike out with my bow and smack him in the head, causing him to topple over, a red mark forming on his neck. Fury bubbling up inside of me, I move forward swiftly, snatching a thin rapier off of the ground and slicing across his back. He flips over, exposing his round belly, and I smack it with my bow.

He shrieks, scrambling to get up, but I stomp my foot down on his belly and he cries out. Feeling merciless and very upset that we've lost such a good competitor so early, I whip the end of my bow across his face. A streak of red paints the ground as I repeat the action.

"Stop, _stop_!" he cries over and over.

Constance runs to my side, clutching one of her beloved rondels. Her eyes find mine. But in that one moment of distraction, Ben manages to grab the end of my bow and drag it to the ground, rolling away from it. Constance muffles a laugh as Ben spins right to her feet, and without showing any mercy, she brings the rondel down on his stomach.

I stare feebly as she pulls the weapon out, smearing the blood on Ben's black and green jumpsuit. "Didn't think you could do it," she sighs, taking one last look at his small body, curved into a U shape.

With that, she scurries back to her spot, helping Slate battle Savanna Poppet. I barely notice when Slate strikes her temple, bringing her to the ground. My eyes focus on Serafina, and all I can think of is regret.

_Why didn't I try and understand her better?_

_Why was she always so distant to others, yet close to me?_

_Why didn't I help her?_

_Why do I feel so bad? _

I shake the thoughts free from my mind as Camo Russo straddles the Cornucopia, swinging his legs over the side. Nobody else has noticed him, he's not holding a weapon, and he looks almost at _peace_. I stare directly at him, and he glances over my way. His blackened eyes fall upon my bow, and he raises a thick eyebrow, as if to taunt me.

But I almost don't want to kill him…

I hear Coral and Brucite running back, Coral with a bleeding forearm and Brucite only with minor cut on his forehead and cheek. Did they do it? Did they kill Jinx?

Brucite hastens towards me, his mace dragging. "We didn't get her," he pants. "Four of them against us was too much, so we just ran while we could. If it was anybody else in this alliance, we could have taken them, but Coral was too scared." He wrinkles his nose.

I don't reply, still staring at the sneering Camo. Brucite follows my gaze and sees him, too. Instead of being confused like me, he hurries over to him, swinging his mace up to graze the bottom of Camo's boots.

"Get down here and fight like a man!" Brucite hollers, his scowl thickening. Camo smirks, swinging his legs upward and lying on his stomach, now too high for Brucite to try and reach. "Percy, a little help here?"

"Right," I mumble, notching an arrow. Camo doesn't even move, simply tilts his hat so that it's just in front of his eyes, then relaxes.

When the arrow splits through the hat, I swear his shoulders slumped just a bit.

And then the rain started.

Spluttering like a fish out of water, I dash for cover underneath the Cornucopia. Slate's already there, his longish black locks drenched. He's lost his hat in all the confusion.

As I watch, I see almost all of the tributes fleeing. One in particular, Arthur Augustus from District Three, seizes this rare opportunity to scoop up a bow and quiver of arrows instead of the huge black backpack right next to it. I shake my head, smirking. That's not even his weapon of choice. When I saw him at the archery station, he nearly shot himself in the head by pulling the string wrong. His ally, the boy from Five, smacks him on the crown of his head, effectively causing Arthur to drop the bow and arrows, while Alister snags the backpack with the dull end of a curved scythe. From there, they both scamper out towards the farmhouse.

I could have shot them, but didn't.

Coral soon joins us under the cover of the Cornucopia, her trident completely free of any sort of blood. I kind of knew that she wouldn't make a kill. A blessing in disguise, so she can keep her angelic image?

Yeah. As if.

As I run along, bow clenched tightly in my hand, I can't help but hate myself for caring so much.

**Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve**

A huge cracking noise begins the first of the heavy rainfall, sheets of water absolutely _dumping_ down over the Cornucopia and everything. Luckily we have those cowboy-like hats; otherwise, we would have had our vision marred.

Lux and I hang back as Alexis charges forward, her buttery blond hair trailing out in that high ponytail behind her. Lux's legs visibly twitch, and I know she's dying to shuttle forward and grab that bow and quiver of arrows, just beyond a small hunter green messenger bag. I know she's pretty good with them, and seeing as I failed with weapons, it would be our best bet.

Ignoring her soft cries, I dart forward into the chaos, swoop down to grab the set, and scurry back, rather pleased with myself. The Careers were too busy stalking down other tributes to notice me.

Lux gasps immediately when I run back. "Surtr, what the hell were you thinking?" she hisses. "You could have been killed!"

I laugh easily. "But hey, I was not!"

Alexis shrieks, and for the brief moment that I see her tousling with the guy from District Eleven, Bark, Lux has already notched an arrow. She sends it flying, but it's an unsteady shot. The arrow vibrates. Bark Umbral just has time to look up, his lips parted in a silent scream, before the arrow slices into his abdomen and he collapses.

Lux looks shocked, her eyes humongous, but I tug her away from the scene, motioning frantically to Alexis. The blond darts back, her hands completely empty.

"What are you thinking?" I hiss. "You were supposed to get supplies!"

"Sup… supplies…" Alexis sways, looking sleepy.

I grab her wrist and drag her over to Lux. "Stay here," I breathe. "I'll be right back, promise."

Lux bites her lip, supporting our other ally by tugging Alexis's arm over her own shoulders. With one last glance at the two, I speedily run in, my hand occasionally dipping down to grab something. A clear bag of hard rolls. A pocketknife. A water thermos- empty. I make a wide U-turn and, just avoiding the body of Savanna Poppet, I charge out, unnoticed.

I force the knife and water thermos into the clear bag. Lux nervously looks over our shoulders, gasping whenever she thinks somebody's coming for us. But the fighting continues, and the newest injury has been distributed to Nessa Aoki, as she slips through the arms of District One.

"Come on, guys," I wheeze, motioning broadly. "Let's go to the silo… I'm sure there will be something there for us, I guarantee. Shelter, at the very least."

Alexis runs dazedly behind us, while Lux charges ahead of me. We run behind the barn, where the overhanging roof offers momentary relief from the dreadful weather. The silo seems farther than it seemed before.

"How far do you think it is?" Lux mutters.

"I don't know… maybe a ten minute walk?" I shrug, clutching the bag tightly. I glance behind me. Alexis is there, her eyes unfocused and… she's coughing up a _storm_. Like, literally. She looks physically pale and sick.

I should have gotten her those Morningstars.

"We have to go there," I insist quietly to Lux, eyes trained on hers. "Alexis doesn't look so good. We can camp out there for a bit."

Lux bites her lip, peeking over at our other ally. "I suppose so," she says doubtfully, "but only until she feels better. We have to be on the move, Surtr. This isn't that far from the Cornucopia, honestly."

My mouth feels dry. My eyes flicker back to the Cornucopia, now farther away, and I sadly agree. We were extremely lucky to have made it out alive, even with our small amount of supplies. At least we have weapons and food, the basics. If this rain keeps up, which I have a feeling that it will, we will have fresh water.

Our footsteps squeak in the mud that forms on the gravelly path to the silo. It appears so far away…

My mind is tangled up in shrieking, screaming, loud thoughts. Did Lumi and all my other friends see my daring dash to the Cornucopia? I risked my life simply for supplies. I think that I should deserve a bit of screen time while I'm still breathing.

Lux sighs heavily as she shifts Alexis's weight from one shoulder to the next. Personally, I'm a bit confused. What happened to Alexis? When she darted into the bloodbath, she seemed perfectly fine. Now, she's swaying and her eyelids are like anchors. Not like anything happened. She seems normal; even her hat is firmly in place.

Her hat…

A notion sweeps across my mind and I lunge forward, hooking her hat off the crown of her head. That's when I see the gash of crimson that evenly coats her fair hair, a slash that cuts from her left ear from her scalp down again.

Lux gapes. "What do you think happened?" she whispers, trembling. "How did her hat stay on? Is she…" She's quivering too hard to finish her sentence, almost like she's shivering despite our cowboy hat cover.

"A Career must have gotten to her," I reply dully, vamoosing around to the front so I can see Alexis. She smiles unevenly, her eyes deadened. She's not _there_ anymore. Something must have made her hit her head. She's losing it, just like Nubu Chandlers did.

I'm so _angry_ with myself… I didn't even think to watch her back, just ran in for the stupid supplies instead of thinking that Alexis was capable enough!

"Are you okay?"

"Great," Alexis whispers, her voice tight with pain. "Super."

I bite my lip, shaking my head. Soft waves of black hair fall across my eyes. "Lux, we need to get to the silo. Now. No objections at all."

"I was never one to argue," Lux replies.

And as a team, we allow Alexis to hobble between us, both Lux and I constantly peeking behind our shoulders to see if anybody is in pursuit of us. No one, nobody at all. Though there are a few stragglers at the Cornucopia, fighting off the Careers, all the rest have fled. Exploring this vast farmland would take weeks on foot. I doubt that there will be many tributes for the Careers to hunt down this year, with the expanses and all.

We finally reach the silo, and I leave Lux and Alexis briefly, in order to search the perimeter for some sort of door. I find a hatch just above the ground, with a flap to allow corn or soybeans or whatever to pass through. From there, I worm my way into the huge, dark tube so Lux can try and help Alexis through.

It is a bit of a struggle, but we all make it.

"Wow," breathes Lux, her brown eyes taking the whole thing in. "This actually isn't so bad."

I shake my head, a silly grin finding its way onto my face. This place is actually sort of beautiful, in a rustic sort of way. "Not at all."

The spires that build up the frame of the silo reach in a sort of domelike shape, stretching just underneath a thin blanket of glass where the rain patters softly down, gorgeous raindrops splattering like drops of paint. And for walls, it's like a tawny brown wallpaper with the occasional silver stripe of the silo's skeleton.

The room itself isn't that large, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet each way because it's a circle, but it provides enough ample room for three scrappy tributes to live in. Plus, the dusty old pile of ground-up corn or whatever might be able to provide bedding. I stroll over, stooping down to scoop up some of the fine whitish-yellow powder.

"What is that?" Lux asks, a strange edge to her voice. "Surtr, put that down. It could be poison, for all we know, and I really don't want to lose an ally so early. Especially not with Alexis being like this."

I ignore her, bringing the white dust closer to my face. I examine it closely, picking out some sort of flaxen-colored shell. Is that a corn shell? Looks about right. Then I sniff it, nostrils flaring with the small effort. Definitely doesn't smell like corn, but I don't really know. It's not cooked or anything, plus it is ground up.

"I think it's just old corn," I announce, dusting my hands free from it. "Whatever it is, it looks pretty cushy. It could provide good bedding!"

Lux bites her lip. "We should probably put Alexis down on it," she mumbles, taking the blonde's hand. Alexis looks at me, her eyes wide.

"_Why are you touching me, Surtr?_" she nearly yells, but Lux is quick to give her a smack across the face.

I fly to the small flap, making sure nobody heard her outburst, before hissing, "I really wonder what happened to her, Lux. She's mixing both of us up, now!"

The girl from District Five takes in my uncut black hair and glittering eyes, then glances down at her defined feminine form, before smirking curiously. "Yeah, she's definitely got us mixed up. What's next, she won't be able to tell the corn from the water bottle?"

Though a bit cruel, humor is just what the doctor ordered in this tense situation. I allow myself a short laugh, which feels rather good after being cooped up in a sullen body for so long. "Seriously, you know what I mean."

We both stare at Alexis, who has taken a spot by the corn and is playing with a lock of her hair, chanting a quiet little rhyme. Peaceful and docile enough for now.

"Do you think it will be permanent?"

Lux's sorrowful voice shakes me. I meet her mournful eyes before throwing a shrug her way, my insides twisting over and over.

I still can't believe this happened to Alexis, of all people. She was obviously the strongest of this alliance, and yet, somehow she's slowly slipping into insanity. I've seen Nubu Chandlers from District Ten, his eerie eyes flickering over everything like he owns the place. Then they'd land on me, and that creepy smirk would crawl onto his chin. I can't imagine that happening to Alexis, our sweet, spirited _Alexis_.

**Brucite Gergeon, District One**

It's not over.

Despite what the Capitol says— and I just _know_ that they're enjoying this— the bloodbath is not over.

I look at all the bodies littering the ground. Camo Russo is slumped on top of the Cornucopia, an arrow notched into his temple, gluing one of those inferior hats to his head. Alessandra Balis is also nailed down with arrows, one in her eye and another in her throat. Her remaining eye is still wide with accusation, a trail of black streaking down her cheek like bloody tears.

Bark, from Eleven, lies not too far from a backpack, his hand outstretched towards it. His abdomen is a mess of blood, and I don't particularly want to know who did the deed that ended his life.

There's Ben McMhon, the littlest one of them all, whose body lies right in the mouth of the Cornucopia. His body looks so destroyed, so fragile. I can't help but bite my lip and wonder why I care so much.

Savanna Something-Or-Other from District Ten is a while away, just beyond the plates. Her frizzy brown hair masks a pale face. I saw her death at the hands of Slate. I saw her last choking cry. I saw the light whiz out of her eyes. And as I stand above her, something in my throat, I can honestly say that I don't know why I'm reflecting on her like I care or something.

I'm not in this for Savanna or for Ben. I'm in this for me, for my family, for my pride.

And as I look around at my allies, who look like bloodied soldiers, I remember that they're all here for that, too.

Percy's the first one to break the silence. "I have something to ask."

"Ask away," Constance shoots back playfully.

He looks down grimly at some dark-haired corpse. "Who killed her?"

"Who?" Coral chimes in, her higher-pitched voice a complete difference from Percy's deeper one and Constance's melodic, teasing one.

Percy's Adam's apple pulses as he swallows thickly. "Serafina died. Her chest is smashed open."

My heart thuds against my chest and blood pumps through my ears loudly, almost accusingly. _You killed her, didn't you? You tried to kill a weakling like Leaf or Tree or whoever she was, but you wound up murdering your own ally. It's all your fault!_

Percy looks around the suddenly quiet group, his eyes widening. "Well?" he demands. "I want an answer! I know it couldn't have been another tribute, they're not skilled enough for something quite like this!"

Coral's eyes connect with mine. I stare back at her, feeling more and more like a nightmarish monster.

Slate sighs heavily, swiveling his eyes around to me. I have a feeling that he saw my mace crash into her limber form. He must think I'm nothing more than a barbarian. But it's _not true_. I feel so guilty about what happened to Serafina. I never intended something like this to happen…

"I did it."

My own voice surprises me. Percy looks at me through a veil of disbelief and sorrow. "Why?"

"Didn't mean to," I mumble. "I was aiming for the girl from Seven and instead, Serafina just leapt in front of the mace. It was a total accident, and I'm sorry."

Everybody's staring at me, and I can't help but feel ashamed. I'm not used to this. Back home, I got nothing but praise on my parents' part, and adoration from my little brother. This is a complete and utter shock to me.

"Are you serious?" Constance's screechy voice pierces the silence. "Serafina was one of the best contenders, and you took her out just like that? How could you, Brucite?"

"I… I didn't…" This event has even reduced me to a stuttering coward instead of the temperamental guy I once was. That alone describes how bad I truly feel.

A whimpering sound from inside the Cornucopia alerts all of us. As a pack, we all grip our weapons tightly and dart over to the mouth. Coral's the first to cautiously poke around inside with the hilt of her trident. Nothing.

Then, all of a sudden, a very nervous cry echoes throughout the curved horn. Dashing forward, Slate overturns a crate to reveal the very same girl I was trying to get as Serafina leapt in front of her. The girl from Seven. Eyes widening, I surge forward, but not before Slate slashes his scythe just above her chest, into her small, pale neck.

A gurgling cry. A sniffle. And, eventually, a thick sigh that signals her death.

That's when the cannons start.

One, for Serafina. Two, for the girl from Seven. Three, for Ben. Four, for Alessandra. Five, for Savanna. Six, for Bark. Seven, for Camo. Eight, for… for who?

"Was there a death we didn't know about?" Percy asks softly.

"Yeah, Slate and I saw Jinx cutting up Cohush Nigrum." Coral offers.

A third of the tributes, down. The weakest have fallen, but the strong have survived.

For about an hour, we do nothing but watch the hovercrafts snip the limp bodies into the cloudy sky. I stare at the blackish blood as it mingles with the misting rain. At one point, I think that Slate and Coral sift through the backpacks to try and salvage something useful from the water, and then Percy and Constance join them to store them inside the Cornucopia.

Me, I sit on a crate about ten yards away, the rain sliding off my cowboy hat. I just… stare. I've never been one to feel remorse, but this honestly just takes the cake. I killed my ally, one with the best chances of helping this alliance out? I still can't believe that I didn't stop my mace from crashing forward. I should have grabbed onto the handle and asked Serafina where she came from. But no, I had to continue the swing and it planted itself in her torso.

Looking at the spot where it happened, I feel physically sick.

Nobody comes over to rub my back or say that it's not my fault. Everybody sits silently inside the Cornucopia, and everybody ignores Constance's playful attempts at conversation. I have a feeling that they're all secretly watching me.

I've basically dug my grave my admitting that I had a part in her murder. It probably won't be long until I get a knife to my back, literally. I'm sure Percy wouldn't waver, nor would Slate or Constance. Coral might, but in the end, she was a good acquaintance of Serafina's as well, and even she, who is for the most part spineless, would feel free to stick her trident into my shoulder blades.

And you know what?

I wouldn't blame them.

I've turned into a monster.

**A/N: The Arena by the Tributes.**

_**24**__**th**__**- Alessandra Balis, District Three. An arrow to the throat.**_

_**23**__**rd**__**- Serafina Aegis, District Two. A mace to the torso.**_

_**22**__**nd**__**- Cohush Nigrum, District Nine. A knife to the throat.**_

_**21**__**st**__**- Ben McMhon, District Seven. A rondel to the abdomen.**_

_**20**__**th**__**- Savanna Poppet, District Ten. A scythe to the temple.**_

_**19**__**th**__**- Camo Russo, District Eight. An arrow to the temple.**_

_**18**__**th**__**- Bark Umbral, District Eleven. An arrow to the abdomen.**_

_**17**__**th**__**- Leaf Ender, District Seven. A scythe to the throat.**_

**There we have it, folks. Our bloodbath. Though it was fun to write, it was extremely hard to choose those that would fall, so I selected the ones that I, in all honesty, struggled to write and/or felt like I wasn't doing them the justice they deserved. Again, I apologize if you lost your tribute, and I can only hope that you continue reading.**

**Anyways… WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE ARENA? For real?! A weather-struck plantation. In other words, a gargantuan farm getting weather-beaten. Pretty cool, eh? A couple people guessed it, but nobody was spot on ;)**

**And yes, the arena is already taking toll on some of the tributes! Jinx is growing more calculated, Coral a bit more fierce, Brucite feels like he's nothing but a monster, and who even knows what's up with Alexis?!**

**Question tiiiiiiiime.**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Whose death(s) surprised you?**

**3. Who got away that surprised you?**

**4. What are your thoughts on the arena?**

**5. Favorite POV?**

**6. Least favorite POV?**


	22. Integral

_**You've had your chance, now we've got the mandate.**_

_**If you've changed your mind, I'm afraid it's too late.**_

**Alister Rain, District Five**

Arthur's heavy breathing at my side is a constant, cruddy reminder of our situation. We've been walking for nearly an hour now, and we've counted off a total of eight cannons. While Arthur had gleefully clapped and told me that it was about an eighth of the tributes down (which is wrong, of course), I had merely nodded and smiled grimly.

We have supplies, though. I think we're doing pretty well in terms of that. For weapons, Arthur picked up a small pocketknife and I snagged a curved sort of knife…. A scythe? It's kind of morbid, sort of like the thing the Grim Reaper uses, but it was definitely effective for hooking onto the backpack.

Speaking of the backpack, if it weren't for my quick wits, we would have wound up with just a pocketknife and a bow and quiver of arrows. Arthur grabbed them, thinking they'd be pretty cool to use. Like some superhero he reads about at home.

Arthur nearly died in the bloodbath. It was sheer humanity that I saved him…

And as he babbles as he walks, I'm starting to wish I had just left him at the hands of the Careers. I never would have done that, of course, since Arthur's admittedly a good distraction from the morbid, harsh world around us, but he tends to grind my gears more than once.

"So, Alister," Arthur chatters away, not noticing that I had paid him no attention whatsoever, "What are your thoughts?"

"Huh?"

Patiently Arthur replies, "What…. Are…. Your…"

"No, no, I get that much. What were we talking about, again? I… I blanked out. Just for a bit. But I was listening before."

"Oh," Arthur shrugs. "Didn't you see the girl from District Two on the ground at the bloodbath? Coral or whatever her name is?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, I saw her. Had to be a pretty big and fierce competitor to take her out, don't you think? I mean, she was the only Career girl who had gotten a ten."

My ally nods solemnly. "She was pretty, too. Had such long hair."

I glance at him sideways, smirking. He's always good for a slight laugh.

"So… Arthur." I conversationally change the subject as we near some long, white, plastic-y tubes. "What do you think of the arena?"

His brow wrinkles. "I don't know what to think. What is this place, Alister?"

"I think it's a farm," I glance around at our surroundings. Rain patters softly down on everything, but our hats shelter our vision. "Like, in District Ten? Most of the people there live on farms."

"Oh, yeah," Arthur nods, placing the pieces together. "You're right!"

I smile. "Anyways, should we climb on top of these?" I gesture to the large tubes, wavering in different sizes but basically, most are at least up to my shoulder. "We could find out where they lead us to. Plus, it could be like… like a game."

Arthur's eyes light up with the idea of a game. "Yes!" he automatically says, already struggling to climb one. I shake my head, still smirking.

"No, Arthur, one of us has to lace our fingers together and make a step for the other one. Can you do that? I could climb it…"

"Sure," he replies casually, creating a small step for me with his hands. "Come on!"

I hoist myself onto the tube, which is sort of like a spongy mattress. Wherever I step I leave a footprint of wet gravel, a result of the road. Frowning slightly, I take my scythe and slash open a hole in the side. A rotten smell emanates from inside, and a bunch of greasy, moldy old hay and silage leaks out. My eyes water.

"Ew," Arthur moans, still on the ground. "That stinks, Alister!"

Blinking away tears, I offer him a hand and hoist him up. "Considerably better air up here, though, I guess," I shrug. "Don't you think?"

"Right," mutters Arthur.

With me in the lead, we pad along the hay bales for a bit, and when some other wide bales start at the sides, we leap onto them. It's like a maze of bales, but if you fall you have to either tear a hole open in the side for a foothold, or shimmy your way up between two bales.

Arthur gets very into the game, hopping from bale to bale gleefully and racing me, making sure to try and keep his footing on the slippery white plastic. I, on the other hand, am just trying to make sure we aren't blatant targets from up here.

We keep plodding along the bales until, much to Arthur's dismay, they end around a cornfield. His face visibly falls as he realizes that he won't be able to play his little game any more, but I see this as opportunity. A cornfield! How great to disguise and conceal ourselves!

I tell Arthur this, and he merely shrugs, still a bit downbeat. After he confirms that there's nobody on our tails, we take the time to sort out our belongings, cracking open the backpack to see.

There's actually a good range of stuff in here. Two water bottles, one filled and one empty. A small bottle of iodine, instructions on the label. A pair of thick black gloves. Three industrial containers, one containing dried beef, one containing crackers, and one holding some dried fruit. A book of matches. There's also a rope and a random blade, no handle.

"Well, Arthur?" I raise my eyebrows. "Do you think we struck gold?"

His eyes shine with happiness. "This is great!" he sings out. "My favorite foods are all in here!"

I chuckle, for once today feeling light-hearted. "Awesome," I reply. "We can set out the water bottle to try and catch some rain, too."

"We wouldn't get much, though, would we?" Arthur's eyebrows draw together, genuinely confused.

I muffle a sigh. "Arthur, if we go around and collect the water that's fallen on the cornstalk… leaves or whatever, we'd be good as well."

I can almost see the dim light bulb flash on in his head. "Oh, you're _right_!" he gleefully cheers. "And then we'd have tasty, fresh water!"

Nodding and collecting the things that are currently splayed out on the bales, we trot off into the cornfield. I don't know about Arthur, but my heart is officially in my brain right now. I have no time for affection or friendship; after all, these are the Games, and push often comes to shove.

**Annabell Berry, District Twelve**

"Alright, team!"

Willa's cheery voice pierces through any scrambled thoughts that I may collect. Looking up with wide eyes and tilting my head slightly, I motion for her to go on.

"We had a close call there with Coral and Mr. Skinny Legs. We can't let that happen again." Willa cringes slightly, gesturing towards the scrapes on her arms, just beyond the rolled-up black and magenta sleeves. "We're lucky that Jinx saved our sorry butts."

The black-haired girl, feeling like she needs to add something, sighs gruffly.

Willa contorts her mouth around, glancing around the small group of us. Her eyes land on mine last, and she holds our gaze for a moment. "So, we have ample supplies, right? Some containers of food, water, and even some iodine and matches."

"And the crackers," Nubu adds quickly, his eyes fixated on something in the background. Something tells me that at the moment, he's not all here. That's been happening more and more lately.

"Right," our leader confirms. "Anyways, with a big knife and a… katana, I believe, we're pretty good off. With the exception of getting utterly drenched." She wrinkles her nose, plucking at her top as more rain cascades down on us. The valley provided little cover, untrue to what Willa had suspected. The trees aren't the best umbrellas. "But at least we all made it past the bloodbath, am I right?"

Her voice falters slightly. We all saw how Savanna Poppet, Nubu's partner, was basically decapitated, and how Willa's district partner was shot in the head. Camo. She had some weird attachment to him.

With a start, I realize that I didn't even bother to check out Surtr or anybody in his little alliance, really. I don't even know why I care. Surtr's not, like, a person that I'd necessarily care for at home. But he's so little…

"Anybody hungry?" Willa's voice is back to its energetic peppiness. I shake my head quickly, though in all honesty I could really go for a couple of those crackers, and Jinx also shakes her head, causing a small wave of corkscrewed black curls. Nubu follows suit. I have a feeling Willa would have eaten something, but seeing as nobody else is exactly jumping for the chance of food, she sighs lightly, snuggling back into the crook of her tree trunk.

Everybody's sitting down except for Jinx, and the way she's prowling around in a circle silently is really making me uncomfortable. She took her boots off ages ago so she could have feet covered by thin socks, and she's making no sound at all. If she acted quickly, I'm sure that she could easily snap her knife out at my neck.

Swallowing, I move closer to Nubu.

I'm scared.

I don't want to admit it, never. But I am scared, and I'm nothing more than a spineless slime that volunteered selfishly to escape her father's cruel world. I couldn't even have said a word in my own defense. Now I'm under the gun, and I'm terrified. I should have just stayed home. Who cares if my father yelled at me? The whole world is watching me, waiting for me to take a wrong step. And I'm so _scared_.

The only thing that I proved when I stepped onto the stage was that I wasn't typical, I wasn't the average timid girl from District Twelve. I had the heart and bravery of, of… of a lion or something. I am not a robot.

Though even now that I'm actually in the arena, I'd _die_ to be back home, operating like a robot and being a good machine like a robot.

And I have more regrets, too, not just volunteering. Coming into this alliance, for starters. I could have cozied myself up to Nessa and Bark, and I'm sure they would have accepted me. They seem a lot saner than Nubu and Jinx, on any rate.

Willa's nice and all that, but oblivious. Nubu's not even to be trusted. Sure, when he was invited to be with Willa and I, he was okay, sure, stabbing at some dummy all cheery. But now it's out there- his mindset has been twisted and trampled upon. And Jinx? Who even _knows_ why Willa wanted Jinx in the alliance?!

"Is anybody else thinking that we should seek different shelter?" Willa peers around the trunk of her tree to the one that Nubu and I sit against, a smile peeling across her lips slowly. "This is dandy, but I'm getting soaked."

"Yeah, new shelter." Nubu's creepy smile doesn't fade. "Rooms and rooms…"

I nod uncertainly, already hauling myself up. My hands feel empty. While I have absolutely nothing to my name, Willa's got the two backpacks, Nubu the katana, and Jinx the hunting knife.

Great. The two most unstable kids have the deadly toys.

Nothing more than a ticking time bomb, I know it.

And unfortunately for me, I'm right in the crossfire of it.

I walk behind the three, keeping my eye on Jinx in particular. Her bouncing head of curls mocks me. It's so evil…

A slight noise behind our group makes me pause, my thoughts mingling. Nothing, just the slight sound of rain pattering down on the treetops like before. No sound. I must have been paranoid or something.

_Snap_.

I know that sound; it's a twig snapping. I'm _not_ paranoid, I'm…

I whip my head back to see one grinning face, hissing hot breath onto my own. My heart rate increases wildly, and I let out a silent squeal, scrambling away from Coral Fisher. She grabs the back of my jumpsuit, though, letting out a soft laugh. "I've got my entire team now," she whispers, almost joy-filled.

And as if on cue, the rest of the Careers appear behind her, bar one. Each of them are armed with silvery weapons. Each one is no doubt older than me, scarier than me, and therefore a huge threat.

Trembling with fear, quivering all over, my throat betrays me and, without a fluent thought running through my mind, a loud screech bursts through my parted lips.

I hear Willa gasp, and there's a noise that sounds like her dropping the backpacks. Almost immediately I hear all of them running to my side, and I allow myself to be thankful that I have allies. I shouldn't have even regretted that for a millisecond.

Coral's grip on the fabric of my grey and black jumpsuit tightens, and in her left hand she bares a metallic trident. She draws her hand back, pulling me to her torso, and I can feel her racing heartbeat as well. For a second, I pity her. Most likely, she never wanted this, either.

"You can back away, you know," Jinx's rough voice pierces the silence.

"Never." Coral's smoother tone replies without a second of doubt. "We're trained, unlike you. It's not like we're just going to back down from this, not when that would be one step closer to victory."

Confirming nods from her allies.

I turn my head back to Willa, Nubu, and Jinx. Willa's fists are balled up, but she looks downright terrified, like me. Nubu has that stupid smile painted onto his face, the katana leaning back casually on his shoulder. And Jinx's hunting knife is exposed, drawn out in front of her. She has a grim line for a mouth. Her blackened eyes aren't looking at me, though. They're staring deep into Coral's.

I'm so scared.

It's not Coral nor Jinx who makes the first move. It's Slate Bessarion, slashing out at Jinx with his long scythe. She responds with a snarl, flinging her knife upward to parry the strike. Coral's nails are digging into my back painfully by now, and both our spines are rigid.

Constance follows Slate soon after, her rondel striking the crown of Jinx's head and no doubt making some incision. Jinx may be strong, but she's only human and she's not invincible. I wince.

Squealing, Willa charges them rather dumbly, coming into contact with the side of Constance's rondel and cutting herself, but she successfully distracts the girl enough for Jinx to get a serious cut in there. I whip my head to the other side, only to see Percy Brizo advancing on Nubu, his bow already loaded.

A scream freezes in my throat.

Nubu's quicker. He ducks the arrow that comes flying towards him, avoiding it by mere inches, and rolling to the side. Percy's confused, his feet doing some sort of odd dance, and Nubu cuts upward, metal whistling through air, his katana connecting with the edge of Percy's thigh. And oh, does he scream.

Meanwhile, Coral's shaking, her breath ragged and uneven. I know she's trying to gather up the courage to battle me. I can use this to my advantage, yes. The corners of my lips curve into a small smirk as I rapidly whip around, taking Coral by surprise and knocking the trident out of her hands. Her eyes are huge.

Unsure of where to go, I aim my fist for her abdomen and it connects. Stunned, the girl stumbles backwards, gasping like a fish out of water. She quickly collects herself, however, and charges forward, her foot kicking out to try and collide with my knee. I easily dodge the pathetic attack and in turn sling my own foot at her. The heavy boot connects with her kneecap.

Coral growls, no longer doubtful about hurting me. Her widened eyes narrow negatively and she balls her fists up. We size each other up, staring daggers. My eyes fall upon a form behind her. Brucite Gergeon. His conflicted face isn't unnoticed as he watches us, not really _doing_ anything.

For that small mercy, I thank him.

But this catches me off-guard. Coral must have noticed me looking at her ally, and her fist jams into my windpipe. I cry out, my mouth welling up with the familiar salty taste of sadness.

I can't beat her. As I watch her carefully, one hand rubbing my throat, I realize that she's bigger than me, though she is rather small. _I'm_ small.

So I do the thing I've learned to do best.

I ball myself up in defense, knees pulled closely up to my chin, hiding.

But I forget one vital thing- Coral still has her trident. She just needed the opportunity to grab it.

And when it splits through my back, spearing me to the ground, I silently curse her, but at the same time I can't thank her enough for taking me away from my father.

**Coral Fisher, District Four**

Annabell's hunched form seems to be staring at me accusingly, her blackish blood mingling with the falling raindrops. What makes it worse is that I know her _name_.

Why did I…

I back up, sort of dazed, the trident still imbedded in her limp body as the boom of the cannon resonates around the arena, shaking the ground. Brucite's steady hand is placed on my back, and I think that he sighs as well.

"We should probably move," he murmurs, eyes downcast. "Willa and all of them will be angry with us."

I force a smile. "Never," I make out. "They're outnumbered. This will be one huge alliance, down."

But Brucite is, though I hate to say it, correct. The cannon doesn't go unnoticed. Willa, the peppy blonde, snaps out of her battle with Jinx, Constance, and Slate. Her eyes widen as she notices her ally's bloodstained body, the handle still erect. She whips her head up to me, stare frozen in hatred.

"You _witch_!" she screams, charging forward. I'm caught off-guard, but luckily Brucite is there with a spear (he abandoned his mace not long after the bloodbath), smacking between us. It's more of a barrier than a weapon, really. Just sort of a friendly 'do not cross' fence sort of thing. Willa doesn't take the hint. She grabs ahold of the metal staff, pulling upwards. Though my ally is strong, physics are on Willa's side. Brucite's forced to let go of the end of it, and the spear flies through the air, ironically smacking on the ground next to Annabell.

My heart rate immediately does a sharp incline and I gasp for a breath of air just before a flurry of fists comes beating down at my face, my neck, and my chest. I feel Brucite next to me, surging forward at Willa.

She shrieks, alerting all her allies of her situation. Nubu Chandlers looks up from his hand-to-hand battle with Percy Brizo, both of their weapons scattered on the ground, and he quickly snags his katana and races for us. Jinx Tesatsu doesn't bat an eyelash, only jabs out at Constance and Slate again.

Surprisingly, they're evenly matched with her.

Nubu runs up to me, eyes darkening with anger, and he slashes out at my arm. I stumble backwards, weaponless, allowing him to move forward. Though he's just fifteen or sixteen, he seems so much older…

His limber form leaps out at me, the katana bared, and I trip on a tree root and fall backwards. I'm on the ground, getting soaked. Defenseless.

_Oh, God, I'm going to die!_

Nubu hunches over me, his face completely expressionless with the exception of an eerie little smirk. Breathing heavily, he pins me to the ground and bares the glimmering katana.

_This. Is. It. _

_Goodbye, Kai._

I screw my eyes shut as I wait for the blade to come down on my throat, but as soon as I do, I hear a light gasp and the weight of Nubu is lifted off of me. There's Constance, struggling to contain him. She looks like an angel in bloodstained plaid.

"What are you waiting for, Coral?!" she spits. "We're leaving! _Go_!"

I nod dumbly, staggering to my feet. My eyes fly to the trident, still buried deep within Annabell, but all of a sudden Slate's right next to me, shoving me towards the cornfield again.

"We're going to wait them out," he pants as he jogs alongside me. "They're too dangerous for our own good."

"Especially Nubu," I gasp, clawing blindly at the stalks of corn. We traipse through them, getting whacked everywhere, until we reach the top of the hill and make it to the Cornucopia. My legs tremble. I fall to the ground just before I reach the mouth of the curved horn, but I allow myself a breather.

Constance is at our heels, and she immediately collapses on a crate, still clutching her rondel. "I didn't know they'd be so skilled," she makes out, bending over to examine the wounds on her legs.

"Nobody did," Slate replies grimly. "We totally underestimated them."

"At least we got one kill in," Constance says lightly, and I know that she's looking at me. I feel the need to respond, so I manage a nod.

"Good job, Coral," Slate tells me. "One more down, yeah?"

Brucite and Percy soon join us, the former looking wearier than the latter. Both of their weapons are gone. Brucite has a bleeding wound just below his temple, probably caused by Nubu's katana.

"Anybody know first aid?" Percy asks.

Constance shrugs, looking around the group. I picked up a couple of basic healing skills concerning herbs and such, nothing more. I shake my head. Not like they'd help Brucite's condition.

"Well," Slate speaks first, casting his sorrowful eyes around the group. "End of day one, and I'd say we're doing pretty good. A third of the tributes down, which is really good, huh?"

"One of them was one of our own," Constance sneers, locking eyes with her district partner, who shies away from the tight circle of us.

"And everybody's made a kill so far." Slate nods. "That's awesome."

"Brucite's kill shouldn't count," Constance shakes her head, making her ponytail swish silently behind her.

Slate sighs. "Fine, whatever. The point is, I think tonight we should all just have a good night's sleep. We can go hunting tomorrow and tomorrow night and whenever after that. But I think we should get to treat ourselves tonight."

"Maybe the rain will let up by tomorrow, anyways," I speak quietly, eyes flickering upwards. The cloud cover is way too heavy to clear up in one night, but hey, worth a try.

"You're right." Percy stretches, cracking his knuckles loudly. "I can watch first."

"No!" Brucite's quick to shoot that idea down, and I think that everybody knows why. "I-I can take first shift, honest. I'll watch the whole night if I need to."

I sort of feel bad for him- the purplish bruise-like markings under his eyes indicate serious insomnia. He must be exhausted. They were there every day in training, and they've only increased. "I can watch a bit, if you all want." I offer, avoiding Brucite's stare.

"_No_," he nearly shouts. "I swear, I've got it."

"How do you know you won't off us in our sleep?" Constance says sullenly. "Two people should stay up, just in case."

Brucite slowly nods, looking very drowsy. "Okay, I guess."

Slate raises his hand gruffly. "I can stay up with him first."

"It's settled, then," I say, surprised at myself for showing even the slightest hint of leadership qualities. "And Constance and I can stay up after that, so Percy will be able to go with one of the guys?"

"Sure," Percy nods.

"Wonderful."

I glance sideways at Brucite. He's pale, but I can tell that some sleep will be just what the doctor ordered for him.

And though I don't even know why I care, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure everybody, including the one who must have turned on us, stays put… for now.

**Francis Theroux, District Six**

I peer out of the loft carefully, making sure nobody's tracking me, and I slowly slide out of my hiding spot. Every move I make is cautious and very watchful. I barely made it out of the bloodbath alive- I'm pretty sure that the girl from District Eleven, the young girl, was stalking me.

I run my hands over the two things I collected from the bloodbath- a simple blade, no handle, and a water skin. Not exactly the best things, but I was desperate to get away. I may have panicked at the beginning, but it was sheer luck that everybody else was basically turning the other way.

Plus, my jumpsuit had plenty of ample pockets to put my two things, so my hands were free as I ran towards the farm.

Foolishly, I take out the small paintbrush that I'd fashioned out of a thin stick with some straw and hay. If only I had something like poisoned paint to dip it in… that way, when I'm found out, I could easily swipe it at their noses and singe some skin off or something.

I hear a rustling noise from behind me, and immediately I stand up, eyes flickering fearfully over the loft's landscape. If I were to jump, it would be a nasty fall, about thirty feet or so. I climbed a ladder in terror to get up here. I don't exactly want to think about how I'm getting down.

A coughing noise erupts from a particularly large mound of hay, and I shriek in horror, not even caring that's listening. There is something in that hay- something or _someone_- and I, for one, am not in the mood to die!

A head emerges, and dread seizes my heart. Scrambling to a wooden beam that connects the roof of the barn to the loft, I press myself against it to see who my attacker is.

Curly hair. Beautiful hair. Very curly hair, doused with sprinklings of whitish-yellow hay.

Shrieking for my life, I turn to the post, hands scrabbling nervously at the sides, my feet already looking for footholds. I was excellent at climbing in training- now should be no different. I claw my way up the boulder, one bend of my arm at a time. Within a moment, I'm at a crossbeam that's linked to the post.

_Good_, I think. Curiously, I peer down, still quivering with fear.

Big eyes. Soft eyes. Brown eyes, blinking with confusion.

Again, I shake, kicking my legs up and crawling across the beam. There's a notch in the middle of the long board, I know I can make it to there.

It creaks under my weight, and I don't even realize where I actually am, and how serious the situation is, until I'm on top of that notch and I look down.

The ground, about forty or fifty feet below, seems to mock me with its vast openness. It's so far down… How did I… I didn't realize how high or how far in the middle I was climbing! Now I'm stranded at the middle of a creaking, unstable, flimsy board, about forty-five feet above the ground, so close to the shrieking rain that I could absolutely _die_.

I realize the irony of this. Yes. I do.

And yet, the person continues staring.

Puffy lips. Pillowy lips. Lips stretched into an O.

I grip the edges of the board, which can't even be a foot across. Maybe ten inches across? God, I'm terrified and so nerve-racked. Why couldn't I have just stopped at the top of the post, content to stare down at the person?

"It'll be okay!" the person shouts at me, and I nearly fall, still clinging to the rickety board. "Just inch towards me!"

"Never!" I holler back, wrapping my legs around the board as well. "I'll never submit!"

The person throws their hands up in the air, eyes trained on me. "Well, looks like you're in a pickle, then!"

They're right. I am in a pickle.

What can it hurt, really? I have a blade, and it looks like they're rather unarmed.

I slither towards the post, fingers laced tightly together just underneath the underbelly of the board, my legs inching forward. I can feel my water skin slipping out of the pocket in my shin, and I grit my teeth, slowing down for a moment. If it falls, it might burst. Either that, or the person will get it, retrieve it for themselves! I can't let that happen!

My hand creeps downward towards my shin, and my leg instinctively kicks up to allow more access to the pocket. My fingers brush against the filled water skin, but it's not light for just a couple of my fingertips to pick up. Instead, I take the alternative and shove it deeper down into my pocket, my chest pressed up against the board.

The board groans.

Eyes widening, my body inches forward until I reach the post. Success!... almost.

"Slide down," advises the person.

I shake my head, wrapping both my arms and legs around the post. "Never."

"Well, I'm not leaving," the person crosses their arms, eyes hauntingly staring deep into mine. I'm entranced. If only I could paint them in all of their chocolaty brown splendor…

Before I know it, I'm standing right before them, eyes glazed over and hand outstretched towards their face. I can see clearly now. It's a girl, a girl with dark skin. The stalker girl from District Eleven.

"Who are you?"

"Nessa," the person whispers, breath ghosting over my hand.

I nearly retract my palm from her cheek, but I can't help but move my fingertips over her skin lightly, feeling every contour that forms her delicate, beautiful face. Her nose is like a curved wave, or a flower, stretching to the morning sun.

"Has anybody ever told you that your nose resembles a sunflower?"

She giggles and shakes her head, causing her curls to jounce happily. The picture of sweetness…

I straighten myself out. "Hello," I say mechanically. "I am Francis."

"Nessa," she repeats, eyes darting to the side nervously, before quickly retreating back. Her lips curve into a smile, like that of a newborn babe. "Do you… are you… do you have an ally?"

"No," I say.

"Would you like to be my ally?" she offers another beam, one that has more radiance than a morning glory, shining in the morning sun.

"Of course," I reply on instinct, my words coming before any incoherent thoughts do. "You're stunning."

Nessa laughs lightly, eyes sparkling and skin wrinkling just a tad around her eyes.

The picture of youthful beauty. How much would I love to paint her?

"Um, so what supplies do you have?"

I blink. "Blade and water skin," I say mechanically, slowly. "And you, Nessa?"

She shrugs. "Just a small first aid kit, matches, and a canvas tote bag." She reaches behind her, pulling out the tawny-colored bag. "Surprisingly good, but then again, I was situated smack dab in the center of the Cornucopia's opening."

"That's great," I bleat out. "I was at the rear. Surrounded by bigger tributes. Were very threatening. Didn't want to get killed, so grabbed nearest things to me."

"Well, I'd say we're pretty well off, then." She smiles pleasantly. "All we need is food, but we have water, first aid, a weapon, and something to carry it all!"

"Yes," I say, forcing a smile in response. "Pretty. I mean, well off."

She grins at me again- those teeth could melt butter, to be honest- and relaxes into the hay. There's an air of sadness surrounding her, though. I can tell, though under no circumstances am I asking her what's wrong. I've come to realize over the years that everything is wrong, in every way, shape and form.

**Lux Sephina, District Five**

"Is Alexis doing any better?"

My ears perk up at the sound of Surtr's voice, raspy and somewhat cracking. I peel off some strands of buttery blond hair to reveal the gash in the back of Alexis's head, still bleeding out. "Nothing."

He sighs, his lidded eyes casting themselves sullenly down to the dusty ground of the silo. "There's nothing new, is there? No new news or anything…"

I shrug. "It's only a few hours in, Surtr. Not like we're on Day Five or anything."

"I'm surprised that the Careers haven't come after us. This silo's an easy target."

"Yeah, but they're so dim-witted they probably don't know that it's hollow." I smile lightly, causing him to crack a grin as well.

"You're probably right. They're more brawns than brains."

An uneasy silence falls over us three, with Surtr's dark eyes flashing around the room, Alexis's long pointer finger tracing shapes in midair, and myself simply toying with the drawstrings on my hat.

It's so _boring_ here.

I suppose, though, that boringness can be perceived as being a blessing. In this arena, at least. The thundering rain outside and the shrill whistle of the wind reminds me that I should be extremely grateful that we at least have a roof over our heads.

A frown drifts across my face. Aeol. Array. I wonder how they're coping without me. Most likely Array is making trouble, spilling over glasses of water and such, and Aeol's unsure of what to do. I sigh, my breath shaky. I miss them, and I bet that the feeling's mutual. I mean, without me? Both of them would be out on the street. I basically got them to this point where we're technically safe in a danger zone.

I'd give anything to be back with them right now.

Silence, even silence of the shrieking raindrops, collapses over the silo. Surprised, I leap to my feet, eyes already alert. I guess it shouldn't have come as a shock, then, when a humongous, ear-splitting cracking noise comes shrieking, the ground literally shaking. I tumble to my feet, chin crashing to the ground.

Dazed, I look up with bleary eyes as Alexis starts freaking out as the ground bounces her up and down like a rag doll, her eyes wide like coins. "_What is happening?!"_ she yelps, fingers scrabbling for some sort of cover.

Tears streak down Surtr's face as he realizes what's happening- lightning. "It's not safe here," he sniffles, trying to be the man of the group. "We… we have to get out of here!"

I reach for my hat, which toppled off in my fall, and instinctively reach for the bag. Surtr takes Alexis's hand, and one by one, we slip through the hole in the silo to get out.

It's brilliant. Bolts of bright, white light streak across the land, illuminating the silhouettes of trees and such, all the while raindrops are hissing onto the ground, noise echoing everywhere. Amazing, really. I'd stop to admire it more, but all of a sudden, my allies' figures are scooting past me, the shorter one beckoning me.

Dumbly, I follow.

It's then when there's utter silence again, like it was before the one extreme lightning bolt, and just as quickly as the quietness arrived, a burst of colorless light comes thrashing down onto the silo. I gasp, radiance invading every part of my vision.

I don't even realize that I'm screaming.

"_Lux! Lux!"_

Is that Surtr? Must be.

"Get over here!"

I obey, staggering over to him. I feel… so tired…

Surtr snatches my hand, his palm cold to the touch, and drags both Alexis and I away. We're going towards the Cornucopia, but even I can see the images of the Careers, huddling inside it. Not their best move. I'm sure that the thing is made of metal.

"We're going to have to head for the barn," Surtr spits out. "It's our best hope!"

My eyes fly to the silo, slowly collapsing. We all could have died. It was quick wits and instinct that got us out alive.

My feet scuffle along the mucky, wet ground, my eyes blinded by tears- or is that rain? I don't feel my hat on my head anymore, just the icy fingers of rain- and allowing Surtr to manipulate the actions that my body cannot do, to drag me along. I don't…. I _can't_ do anything.

It's scary. It's like I'm literally numb to the world, and I don't know why.

My hand is clammy.

So is Surtr's.

Alexis's mouth is open.

She is screaming.

I am screaming.

Surtr is not screaming, but he's crying.

Hard.

Sobbing, really.

He reminds me so much of Array.

I don't want to be here.

I _don't_.

My throat tightens as we run into the barn, Surtr releasing our hands to slam the heavy door behind us. It's not quite pitch black, since there's a candle burning somewhere up in some loft, or some sort of torch, anyways. The rain's sound has increased because of the tinny roof, but the barn itself isn't much of a lightning conductor because of its wooden interior.

"Yeah," I hear myself saying. "We could stay here for a bit, stay the night."

"That would be great," Surtr agrees. His gaze drifts onto a ladder. "That hay loft up there, or whatever it is, could be a good place to stay."

"We'd get the advantage on the Careers or other tributes, anyways." For some reason, my stomach is turning. Is it paranoia or hunger? I fiddle with the top of the bag. "Should we eat something, then, for dinner or whatever?"

"Yeah." Surtr nods. "Let's head up to the hay loft."

"Should we survey the area first?"

"I wouldn't think so. I mean, you can if you'd like, but Alexis and I are going to make our camp up at the loft. Just up the ladder, and you can give the bag to me." I comply.

My stomach churns once more. Why is it so queasy? I frown slightly as I watch Alexis mount the ladder, climbing up it pretty quickly to the loft, to the fire that illuminates the entire area.

_Fire_…

My eyes widen, my throat turns to acid as I shriek out a "_Don't go up there, Alexis!"_

Screams.

**A/N: Integral by the Pet Shop Boys.**

_**16**__**th**__**- Annabell Berry, District Twelve. A trident to the lung.**_

**Glory- Annabell was amazing, really. I did love her, quiet personality and all, and I hated to pick her off. Sadly, the Games are the Games, and she wouldn't have made it very far.**

**Hm… let's think. I **_**might**_** be on hiatus, since I'm taking a long vacation until sometime in August, but I'll try my very best to update while I'm on there. On any rate, yeah, if I don't update for a bit, it's because of that, not because I've been fatally maimed or something. :P And by the way, I haven't responded to PM's for a bit since it's nearly midnight and I'm so freaking tired. I'll reply tomorrow.**

**And loyal readers for Contrary, you WILL get your Reaping chapter soon! I just loathe Reapings, is all. They're hard to write, too.**

**We're officially the first day in! Almost, actually, it's about suppertime for the dear tribbies. The summary? Arthur and Alister have found their camp, Annabell died, the Careers are skating on more thin ice, Francis and Nessa have teamed up, and the Lex-Lux-Surtr alliance has found… who?**

**Okay. Questions, yes? ;)**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Thoughts on each death thus far? (Basically, last thoughts and whatever you'd like to say about them.)**

**3. Anything that happened that surprised you?**

**4. Death/arena/anything else predictions?**

**5. Favorite and least favorite POV?**


	23. Oh No!

_**.**_

_**I know exactly what I want and who I want to be. I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine.**_

**Nessa Aoki, District Eleven**

"_Don't go up there, Alexis!"_

My body freezes when I hear the young voice. I recognize that tone. Lux Sephina from District Five, and from what I recall, her alliance was rather intimidating to myself.

Francis's brown eyes are huge, practically glued to the spot where the ladder is, where Alexis is bound to appear. I snatch my tote bag, barreling straight for the pile of hay and hoping that Francis follows me.

He does, actually. He gets there before even I do, somehow.

We both dive into the flaxen-colored pile, random shafts of hay jabbing into my exposed skin. Taking a quick breath of sweet air, I burrow myself down in further to the poking hay, I curl up into a ball, sitting on top of the tote bag and burying my head between my legs.

I hear footsteps, and my heart stops.

Somehow Francis's hand snakes through the hay and finds mine, which I squeeze with all the might I have. I feel numb, praying that Alexis will not find us. If she does, no doubt one of her deadly Morningstars will find my throat. I saw her train with them. She was lethal with one of them in her hand.

"L-Lux?" I hear her voice, raspy, like it hasn't been used in a while. Or like she's been screaming. "There's a fire up here?"

My heart freezes. It doesn't even take a moment to process what she's saying. My eyes fly open, staring into darkness, underneath the shroud of hay. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot.

We forgot to extinguish the fire that we were burning.

Francis gasps softly, and his fingers tighten their grip around my own. Our palms are both sweating like mad.

"I _know_, Alexis, you have to get down from there!"

But no, the girl from Nine keeps poking around the loft, her footsteps echoing ominously. They creep closer and closer to the haystack, and I can do nothing but tremble. My mind has been turned into gelatin. "Not yet, Lux," Alexis calls back, her tone teasing me, messing with my head. "I want to explore."

"Th-There's plenty to explore elsewhere! Please, Alexis, I'm begging you, just get down from there before somebody pops out at you."

They're scared, too? My ears perk up.

Alexis scoffs. "Nobody's gonna pop out at me, Lux. Stop being so paranoid."

A thin voice emerges from the ground. Surtr Kayhiv. Their third ally. "She's right, Alexis. Please just follow us."

"No, guys!" Alexis sounds impatient, her footsteps getting heavier and more filled with irritation. "I just want to look around here. Maybe there's a knife or something useful!"

"Nessa?"

Francis's voice is very lulled. I swallow dryly. "Wh-What?"

"She's going to find us," he whispers.

"No, she's not. Just have a little faith. Maybe she'll go down the ladder like Lux and Surtr are telling her to."

A quick exhale, like he's stifling a laugh. "Fat chance. Alexis is independent. Didn't you see her in training?"

Of course I did. I know her better than anybody here, simply from observance. She feels trapped in her own body, wanting to be better than she can be. Peer pressure has beaten her. "Yes," I sigh. "You're right."

Before I can say anything else, I hear a rather loud hum. I don't dare move a muscle. Alexis is hovering above the haystack, I _know_ it.

"Hey!" her voice is cheerful. "I found some soft straw that we can use for a bed. Just come up here, I promise it's all good!"

Before anything can happen - before I know what I'm doing – before her allies have a chance to reply, I surge upwards from the pile of hay, eyes widened and straw coating my flannel outfit accordingly. Alexis's eyes are like oranges. She hisses, instinctively backing away from me. Adrenaline coursing through my veins like a drug, I run towards her, pumping my arms and screeching.

She stops in her tracks for a moment, shoving me backwards. It catches me off guard, and I slam into the wall, right up against a rake. Gasping in pain, I peel myself off of the wall and towards the blonde girl, using my right hand to slap her across the face. Alexis squeals, her fist jabbing out at my nose.

I don't feel much, the adrenaline is pumping too hard. Feeling energetic, on top of the game, I hold both my hands out in front of me, held a bit higher than my chest, and I shove her.

A scream resonates throughout the barn as Alexis topples backward, but instead of falling on her back, which is what I had expected, she disappears. Immediately I know that something is not right. Tiptoeing forward, half-expecting her to leap out of a hole or something, I scan the ground.

But then I see it. She fell over the edge.

I rush to the end just in time to see her, flailing her arms and shrieking like a banshee, as her head collides with the hard ground, hat flying backwards. A loud cracking noise and a blasting cannon is the end of her life.

Lux and Surtr, near the ladder, both look at me with anguished looks. But those are quickly replaced by sheer sorrow as both of them dash over to their fallen ally, eyes saddened and mouths twisted grimly.

My thighs are shaking so badly I'm surprised that I don't fall over the edge. I gingerly sit down, legs hanging downwards. I allow myself a quick look back to Alexis and am quickly repulsed by the sight of crimson, slowly streaking its way from the back of her head. Her face is turned towards me, bright eyes widened in utter shock. Her limbs are splayed out— one arm is bent horridly underneath her back, legs set askew.

Gaping in shock, trembling with fear, and tasting bile, I turn back to the hay stack.

And there Francis sits, looking quite sad.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

Nothing helps.

Everything I do, be it nibble on a cracker or yawn or flex my fingers, is a bitter reminder of how I survived and Annabell didn't. How I lived, my heart beating while hers stopped. It's a constant reminder of death, how it hangs over our heads, quite like a darkening cloud.

I can't take it, can't be with these two any more.

It's night by now, a pitch black color tainting the sky. The horizon still shows off gorgeous colors of mingling melon pinks, oranges, and even some deep navy blues. The clouds have almost all dissolved from that one ferocious lightning storm, but if there were any more I couldn't see them.

Nubu, Jinx and I had a supper not too long ago under the cover of a creaky old shed found in the trees. There were five containers chock full of dried fruit, plus a sleeve of dry crackers. Water's plentiful, and we've caught lots of it in our three water skins. We were each able to eat a bit of the fruit, about a handful, plus a couple crackers. I had some dandelion greens, and that too reminded me of Annabell (she had dragged me to the edible plants station) but Nubu and Jinx had both turned their noises up at those.

Now for a while we've been sitting in silence- Nubu lolling out underneath a dead tree, fighting off some imaginary demons with the katana, Jinx taking a brief rest from her prowling by perching on the remains of a tilted tractor, and me slumped against the wall of the shed.

Out of nowhere, a triumphant-sounding trumpet sounds, blaring cheerily through the woods. Jinx is on her feet immediately, startled by the noise, and rather reluctantly hops back onto the rusted metal.

First to pop up in the sky is Serafina Aegis of District Two. Somewhat surprising, since she got a score to match Jinx's, but I suppose that it was justified somehow.

Alessandra Balis follows, her dazzling grin and bright eyes seemingly taunting me. I remember her interview vaguely. She seemed rather arrogant, talking about her life back in District Two, how _wonderful_ it was compared to Three.

It skips a few to District Seven next, where little Ben McMhon's cheeky smile pops up. He looks so little, just twelve years old. I sigh heavily as his district partner's picture fills the sky, her brown eyes looking at me with such innocence. Leaf Ender.

I grit my teeth as Camo's familiar face lights up the sky, thick eyebrows contorted into a stern glare. It's hard knowing that somebody you've conversed with for so long is dead. I wonder how people back in Eight are faring, if they're cheering me on or mourning for their loss. I'm all they have left, all their hope riding on me. If I fail, I've brought yet another year of darkness upon my district.

Cohush Nigrum is next, bushy hair and sappy smile grinning down at me. He's the kid who cried out just before the bloodbath. The kid whose blood Jinx splattered across the dusty ground of the cornfield…

Alexis Tress is next – to me, this is especially surprising because I saw her score of a 6, plus her amazing appearance and stage presence, along with the fact that I noticed her alliance got away from the bloodbath safely. So the Careers targeted other alliances as well!

_Along with that_, I muse, _that means that both District Seven and Nine are out. Funny, since usually they're the districts to get the furthest, aside from the Careers._

Rather large front teeth and hazel eyes are the distinguishing feature of Savanna Poppet. I sigh softly as I watch her chipper picture fade into the one of District Eleven's Bark Umbral, his lips peeled into a shy smile. Both were expected, both were outlier districts with little chances of victory.

But as quickly as Bark's picture fades, I _can't_ look anywhere but the ground as the last few seconds of the anthem blast, then peter out. Annabell's picture will only haunt me.

A couple moments of silence fill the air until Nubu breaks it. "Ten are dead."

His eyes meet mine, but I don't return his broken smile.

"Both of your district partners, plus Annabell," Jinx sighs, hopping down from her perch and beginning to stalk around the area. "We're already at the top fourteen."

"I can't believe it," I murmur, shaking my head slightly. "Just yesterday we had interviews with Caesar. It seems like a thousand years ago."

"Time flies," Nubu sings out, eyes fixated on some pebbles.

That tears it. I… I can't stay with these two any more. Without the gentle presence of Annabell, they'll be unrestrained. They'll be like a duo of sadists, hunting each tribute down. I gulp slightly as I watch Nubu slash through the air with his katana, a funny smirk playing on his lips.

I can't.

"Um, guys?" My voice sounds ragged in the cold night air. I hug my arms tightly to my body, wishing with all my might that this goes smoothly.

"What is it?" Jinx asks after a moment of silence. Her eyes flicker to me.

I run my finger over the brim of my damp hat. "I… I'm leaving."

"We'll be here when you come back," Nubu replies patiently. "Just like always."

I laugh shakily. "No, you… you don't understand. I mean, I'm, um, leaving. Uh, I'm leaving this alliance."

Silence fills the air, and I whip my head to the side so I can see Jinx and make sure she's not sneaking up on me. But her silhouette is still, the hunting knife protruding neatly from her clenched fist.

"Why?" Nubu's voice sounds childish, needy.

I swallow, my tongue feeling like it has cotton balls stuffed underneath it. "I just need some time to myself. I'm sorry."

"So you're leaving us behind?"

"Leaving us behind? Who's us?" Jinx shakes her head, the shadow of her corkscrews dancing in the faint light. "If Willa's leaving, I'm leaving. Might as well split up."

Nubu looks rather offended. He turns to me, knuckles clutching the katana. "So we're all going to be loners?"

My heart melts at his suddenly saddened eyes, so big and brown and gloomy. I try to remember the creepy smiles he's given me, all of the unnerving expressions he's made. The effect of those are far greater than a simple sad look.

"I guess so," I sigh. "Should we split up the supplies?"

"I'm fine without any," Jinx tosses her hair, seemingly unaffected by all of this. "I can live off the earth for a bit."

"No, I insist. It's the least I can do, anyways. Splitting the alliance up and everything." I gnaw on the inside of my lip. "We can each have a container of something. Two people with two things of fruit, one person with the crackers and a fruit container."

"I'll take the crackers," Nubu mutters. "But what about weapons?"

Jinx cuts in. "I'm keeping my knife," she interrupts, and for a moment I think I see an upset glint in her eyes. It disappears after a moment of silence, though, so it may just have been my imagination. "Since Willa decided to split us all up, it's only fair that she has no weapon."

She's right. Miserably I reply, "That sounds fair, Jinx… and we can each have a water skin."

"I'll have the iodine," Nubu pipes up.

I nod- he seems to be the most effected by this, he should at least get a little reward. I don't mention that there were two bottles; I can just slip it into my pocket. Thinking ahead, it would be easier if Jinx was knocked off by something as simple as bad water instead of me going head to head with her. Concerning Nubu, I'm not too crazy on the idea of an insane guy going at it alone with a katana and ample supplies, but I'm fairly certain that he's not willing to kill me or anything. I wouldn't be willing to kill him, anyways.

"That's fair," I respond. "We have about twenty matches, so we can each have about six. One person can go without an extra match."

"Save your matches," Jinx answers, without giving her reason or anything. Silently she reaches into a backpack, slides out two fruit containers, and just like that, giggling quietly, she slips off into the darkness.

I stare after her.

Nubu's a bit harder to say goodbye to, since he actually talked to me and such, but once he gets done packing his crackers and fruit and matches and iodine with precision, he stands up abruptly. His sharp brown eyes glance over me one more time, and in a surprisingly choked-up voice, he whispers, "Goodbye, Willa," and slides into the cover of night.

But only moments after he leaves, a funny pang erupts inside my stomach. Is it… it can't be. I've never felt this emotion before, ever.

For once in my life, I'm finally lonely.

**Slate Bessarion, District Two**

Constance laughs loudly, elbowing Coral to try and get her to giggle as well. The girl from Four looks at her blankly, her hands wavering over the fire.

Our first night as a Career pack, and you can almost taste the tension in the air.

Brucite's nearly silent, piping up only to defend himself from the constant insults. Percy chats it up with me a lot, but you can tell he's on his guard. Constance is cheeky and all that, but she always has been. Coral's more quiet, reflective.

And me?

I'd like to think that I'm the leader of the pack, even though Constance would beg to differ. But she and I have much different ways of thinking. Where her mindset translates 'leader' into somebody who commands everybody in a vain attempt to get control, I think that a leader is somebody who just makes sure that things run smoothly. A Peacekeeper, in a sort of way.

"Ten kills," Constance sings out, fingers drumming on the top of her hat, which is on the ground. "We're almost down to half the tributes, isn't it great?"

I manage a smile. "Drop-dead wonderful," I deadpan.

"I don't think there have been so many kills on the first day in recent years," Percy shrugs inside his large jacket (he snagged it from the Cornucopia). "We're working really well as a team."

"Even without Serafina, we're working fluently." Coral smiles, a relieved expression spreading over her face. The feeling is mutual between us. I'm glad that the consistent bickering has been drawn to a halt.

Brucite winces, rubbing his temple. I glance over at his wound, a bead of watery red making its way down to his jawline. He's more hurt than he lets on, I know this. But ultimately, if he whines there's just more reason to get a knife in the back.

Literally. I smirk.

"What are you so smiley about?" Constance nudges me, her hazel eyes flickering towards me.

"Nothing, just… happy about the day." I don't look at her.

Inwardly, somewhere deep inside of me where I'd never admit, I know that I'll never be able to give up the guilt. When my scythe hit Savanna, and the light faded from her eyes, I sort of knew that I had damaged something irreplaceable. A life. She'd never get to go home to her family, she'd never be able to look into the gorgeous skies. Her chance at victory was slaughtered.

And yet, I understood that I had to do it. It's one step closer to home, to seeing Deya and Artemis.

I half-heartedly munch on a hard roll, not feeling very hungry all of a sudden.

"Are we going to hit the hay now?" Percy breaks the silence. "Or do you guys want to hunt a bit more, look for some tributes?"

"I'll hunt," Brucite speaks up instantly, wide eyes flickering over all of us.

"So will I," I sigh, grabbing the handle of my scythe.

"I'm in!" Constance says, already on her feet.

Coral murmurs her agreement with a small frown. She's definitely not as gung ho as the rest of us, but for now that's okay. As long as she's willing to get her hands dirty, and besides, she proved she could pull her weight with the Twelve girl's death.

"Shall we split up?" I ask when everybody's grabbed their weapon of choice. I notice that Brucite's using a curved knife now instead of his mace.

"Yeah," Constance nods. "Much easier that way. I'll go with Bruce, you three can go in another team."

"Hey," I frown, knowing her intent. "I think it would be better if I went with Brucite, so Percy could go with you and Coral."

"So you get his death to yourself?" Constance snorts. "No way!"

Brucite gulps quietly from next to me, and I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. I know that Serafina's death was an accident, and I've forgiven him. The rest of the alliance, well, they're idiots for holding grudges. "Fine. Girls on one team, guys on another?"

"That's fair," Constance pouts slightly. "Hopefully Percy won't go insane and try and lop his head off."

Coral giggles shakily from her friend's side.

"Alright." I raise my scythe slightly. "We can take the area with the big buildings, like the barn and-"

"No." Constance cuts in annoyingly. "I want that area for me and Coral. You guys take the pastures."

Percy sighs before I have a chance to say a word. "Honestly, you two are like bickering toddlers and it's really getting on my nerves. That's fine, Constance, let's just go!"

The blond girl smiles triumphantly, waving her rondel in a sort of goodbye. I turn away from them, taking the lead, and Brucite and Percy trot behind me.

The night air is chilly. I'm glad that our jumpsuits are designed for warmth. Hugging my arms tightly to my chest, I surge through the knee-high clovers and grasses, occasionally stepping on a snake or something. There's no sign of any tributes in the first ten minutes, and I think that we've gone off track.

"Should we turn back?"

"No," Brucite immediately shakes his head, his steps jittery.

"I agree." Percy nods affirmingly. "If we just keep turning back and stuff, we'll never find a tribute, man."

I brush a lock of dark hair out of my eyes as I step over a low-hanging fence. "Barbed wire here," I remark. "Better look out or you'll cut your ankle."

"I've seen this wire before." Percy frowns. "It was in the training center for something. I forget where."

"An arena clue, no doubt," I chuckle. "You should have told us, Perce. We could have tried to guess where the arena would be."

"It's fine," he brushes me off. "I mean, it's not like a huge shock. It's actually a good arena, has lots of hiding spots and things we can use. It's better than a sulfuric forest or something."

"Ah, you're right." I stumble over a clump of thick grass that's slightly uprooted, but maintain my balance. "Where we'd have to dodge fireballs every single time we tried to shoot an arrow, yes?"

I glance back to see Percy grinning, looking at the ground, and Brucite trying to force a weak smile. I decide that while I have him in a good place, I might as well get to know Percy better.

"So," I say, my tone casual. "You and Coral, eh?"

"She's a jerk," he immediately cuts in. "I don't know what's wrong with her. I try to be nothing but nice to her, and she acts all… freaky."

"Don't worry about it," I reply off-handedly. "Serafina was that way, too. All arrogant and stuff."

"But no, that was part of her personality. Coral's, you know, the sweet kind of person. But around me she acts like a devil. What did I ever do to her?" Percy sighs. "Girls are weird, man."

"Not all of them," I shrug. "You've had a girlfriend, right?"

"Yeah, like five."

"Well, same. You heard about my daughter on interview night, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh." Percy sounds strange. "Where are you going with this?"

I consider his question for a while, walking in silence. Then I reply, "Well, I acted that way around Artemis a lot before we dated. And now look where we are, parents. I bet she just has a crush on you, man."

"No, she doesn't! How could you even say that?"

I smirk slightly. "Are you in denial?"

"De-_Denial_? You can't deny something that's-"

"Chill," I cut in. "I was kidding."

Percy calms down a bit, but he doesn't say anything after that. I don't care. As long as the relationship is maintained well, we could be a power duo. Brucite? He's fine, but his paranoia is bound to get him killed.

And that's something I'm _not_ planning on.

**Arthur Augustus, District Three**

"This is spooky," I moan as we cross yet another darkness-imbedded pasture, almost no light filtering through the sky. "Alister, can we please stop now?"

He glances over his shoulder, gives me this withering look, and continues trotting in front of me, backpack bouncing.

I swallow, feeling like my tongue has been stuffed with cotton balls. He's been so mean since we've gotten into the arena. I don't know what's wrong with him, really. He tells me it's better not to get attached, to stay hardened, whatever that means.

"Alister," I whimper. "I'm scared."

"Put a cork in it, Arthur," is his tired response.

I frown uncertainly. "Can we at least try to set up camp? You said we could about an hour ago. And I'm hungry, we didn't get to eat."

He sighs heavily, turning towards me. But then he stops, eyes visibly pricking up as if straining to hear something. "Arthur, do you… do you hear that?"

"Huh?"

Alister's eyes flash with worry as he whirls around, fear evident in his shaky movements. "Arthur, I… I think somebody's following us."

"What?" I stammer. "Th-that's insane. We've seen no sign of nobody in all the time we've been walking! How could somebody pop up out of the blue, Alister?"

He looks at me from the corner of his eye, breathing heavily and looking around. He swallows. "Don't move a muscle," Alister hisses, slowly moving his feet further apart from each other. I remember it's something called a 'fighting stance', something we were taught in the training center.

I swallow roughly.

"I don't want us to die," I whisper, feeling very small as Alister sheds the bag, looking around furiously.

A snarl hisses from somewhere in front of me, masked by darkness, and I yelp in surprise. My ally looks terrified, but balls his fists up tightly and calls urgently over to me, "Arthur, give me the-"

A howl emerges from the blackness of night and, in complete surprise, Alister tumbles onto his back. But no, no, he didn't fall over by himself- there's something _on_ him.

"It's a puppy!" I giggle, feeling relieved. He only wants to play!

"This is not a puppy!" shouts Alister as he scrambles to get to his feet, the shaggy dog growling and barreling around him in a circle, "this is a mutt, Arthur!"

"That's not nice," I reply, watching the doggy. "Maybe it is a mutt, maybe it is a purebred. You can't say things about doggies that you've just met." Alister shakes his head, scowling as he sizes up the dog.

Out of nowhere, the grey dog clamps its jaws around Alister's ankle, effectively bringing him to the ground. I gasp, bringing my hands to my mouth and eyes widening. Is this a mean dog? Whatever did we do to provoke it?

"Get the scythe!" he shrieks, flailing his arms and trying to land a punch somewhere on the dog.

I spot our backpack, tossed into a small clump of large clovers. "Found it," I sing out, running over to the pack, never taking my eyes off Alister and the doggy. "Why do you need-"

The dog growls loudly, letting loose a bark that pierces the night sky. My ally cries in pain as it bites him again, this time on his forearm. When it pulls away, I see four or five teeth marks, each slowly trickling out a trail of dark blood on his pale skin.

"I- I got-" I begin, reaching for the backpack. All of a sudden, I'm staring at the sky and the backpack is gone and there's a tannish doggy, on top of me, pinning my arms to the ground with its heavy paws. It snarls lowly, yellowish eyes narrowing to meet mine. A gob of disgustingly slimy drool plops onto my exposed neck, and I don't dare move a muscle.

"Good doggy," I mumble quietly, closing my eyes and relaxing my shoulders. "Be a good puppy, please…"

Out of nowhere, a whimper arises from a dog- and that's when I see a third dog, slowly trotting towards Alister. It's obviously been slowed down by the slash mark on its shoulder, and, all of a sudden, it drops to the ground.

I inhale sharply, eyes widened in fear. Suddenly, the tan doggy on top of me relaxes its muscles, eyes losing their flickering fury. Its head drops to my lap, a river of blood flowing from a wound on its neck. My mind spins. Self-destructing dogs? It doesn't make sense!

"Hold on, Alister, they are-" I call out, but all of a sudden, I'm being grabbed, hands around my chin like I'm being choked. I stumble blindly backwards, clawing at the hands, until a female voice hisses out, "I'm here to save you, jerk! Stop hurting me!"

I immediately recognize the voice as the blond girl from Eight. Willa. She got a five, I remember, and her interview was aced as well. Trying to stop my grin of relief, I whirl backwards, facing her. "Could you please save Alister as well?"

Her confused expression tells me that she thought I was alone. I jab my thumb over to him, the grey dog drooling and licking its chops hungrily. Its teeth sink into Alister's shoulder, but all he can do is utter a faint cry of pain. It's scary seeing my strong ally like this.

"Oh, God," Willa murmurs, her bright eyes huge. "I… I'll try…"

She charges toward him with a scythe – _our_ scythe – and brings it down on the heavy dog. A whimper emerges from the muttation as it sinks to the ground, a small red puddle under its shoulder.

I gasp, rushing over to him. "Alister, are you okay?" I choke out, feeling very small.

His puffy red eyes bore into me, and he reaches for the side of his neck weakly. "No," he mumbles, exhaling shakily. "It hurts _everywhere_, Arthur. I can't…" Swallowing, I reach for his hand. He clutches it like a lifeline, his fingers like a vise. "I'm not gonna make it," he whispers.

"Yes, you will." I smile feebly. "I believe in you, Alister."

He draws in another breath, keeping his eyes trained on me. Gone is the nasty, snide person that was here just a couple minutes ago. Newly here is the Alister I once knew, the one with the touchable side, who treated me like a best friend. The one I met at chariots. Who laughed when I spoke to him, slapped me on the back, grinned along with me.

"I can't, man," he manages a slight laugh, though it sounds like it's being forced out of him. "Everywhere that dog bit me, I feel just… _burning_ pain."

A tear leaks out of my eye before I know what's happening. "Don't leave me," I croak out.

His lips quirk up into a smile. "Tell Talon that I love her."

"T-T-Talon?" I squeeze his hand harder, more desperately, as I slowly watch the light fade out of his eyes. "A-Alister, _don't_ die. You can't!"

"Arthur." His voice soothes me, and he reassuringly wraps his other hand around mine. "I'm so sorry."

"Alister!"

"Just listen to me," he mumbles, his eyelids slowly slipping shut. He struggles to keep them open. "Tomorrow I'm going to be nothing but another face in the sky. But all I want, Arthur, is for Talon to know that I love her. Can you do that?"

A lump emerges in my throat and I nod, blinking away tears. "I… yes."

"_Thank_ you." Alister looks at me one more time, smiling faintly. "I love you, dude."

I sniffle. "I-I love you too," I whimper shakily.

His eyes train on the darkening night sky. "I… I want to see the stars, Arthur."

Out of nowhere, his fingers around my hand loosen, growing limp. His eyelids are shut. A cannon erupts somewhere in the distance.

He's _gone_.

**Nubu Chandlers, District Ten**

Yawning, I wake up, eyes blinking sleepily. For a moment, I'm confused- where's Willa, Annabell, Jinx?

The events of yesterday come rushing back to me and I slump back into the hay, instantly saddened. I never wanted to split the alliance up. My chances of victory are just decreasing more and more by the second.

I pull out my backpack and open up my sleeve of crackers, the flat white spheres looking like full moons. I count out about five, placing them delicately on my flannel-covered, sweaty thighs, and burrow the rest back into the pocket of the black pack. No water is necessary at the moment, I'm not thirsty. I need to conserve as much supplies as I can; maybe I can just evade everybody and live from the earth.

My temporary home is inside a haybale. Not the best hiding place, I must admit, but when I saw the abandoned white tubes half-covered by a shroud of forest, there was no other thing for me to do than hop over them, slash open a hole, just enough for me and my bag to fit in comfortably, and mask myself with more silage. I've gotten used to the stench, anyways. Fifteen years of living in District Ten has prepared me. I smirk, giggling lightly at the thoughts of home.

_Annabell, where's Annabell?_

My stomach convulses as all of a sudden, my clean, pure, filtered thoughts all waver. My eyes widen, knowing that my good mindset is leaving me to make room for the monstrous mindset. My fingers scrabble anxiously at my throat, nails scratching the thin skin, but it's… it's too late… I'm being invaded by my own mind…

_It's me, Nubu. Your best friend, your worst enemy. I am the disease that's taken over you. I'm right when you're wrong. I'm everything that you aren't._

I inhale sharply, shuddering as my mind is taken over.

_Done_.

I hear footsteps and I peer out of my gaping hole in the side of the hay bale to see my old ally. Jinx. She slinks along the tree line, her black hair masking her face and making her seem dangerous. Her breast pocket is full, probably containing her food and water. And of course, the hunting knife is held tightly, just in front of her. The silver blade glimmers in the faint sunlight, which is rapidly being covered up by clouds.

I finger the blade of my katana, smirking all the while. I could knock her off right now, how would the pretty little freak like that?

I slip out of the hay bale, keeping my eyes on her, and I slip the backpack onto my shoulders. The long green grass rustles beneath my light footsteps, and Jinx whirls around.

"What the hell?" she spits out. "Were you following me?" She juts her knife out slightly, the tip just a couple feet away from my nose. "I… I can kill you in a second. I'm just warning you."

"You know what?" I smile sickly, lowering my own weapon. "I think we should form our own alliance. Willa's good as dead if we band together, yeah?"

Jinx's frown wavers. "Are you sure?"

I glare at her, harnessing up some stored-up fury. "I'm not good at going solo, Jinx, and don't you dare think I'm messing around. Do it," I growl.

She glances at me, smirking. "Sure, little guy. Why not?" She says it like it's amusing her.

I feel like I'm losing something here, but I don't know what.

"Lovely," I whisper, smiling.

She slips her food inside a pocket of my bag and we set off, her with the hunting knife and me with the katana and backpack.

The sky is dark already, even for early morning. Any rays of golden sun are lost within the puffiness of the impending, ominous clouds that overshadow everything. We're nothing but things that their rain will strike down.

I roll my shoulders back as we come to a high field overlooking the small farm village, where we have a clear vantage point of the Cornucopia.

"Look at them," Jinx hisses. "The Careers."

My eyes land upon small, ant-like figures that are scurrying around the metal horn in a hurry, trying to salvage what they can from last night's storm. "Everything seems to be waterlogged."

Jinx scoffs, striding with long steps to a slim tree. "They're all idiots. Supplies can be saved from water, and if any of them had anything in their brain besides dust and facts on how to swing a mace, they'd be eating the food packets right now." She wrinkles her nose, a surprise from her usual pokerface.

"Packets of food," I say, forcing eye contact. "Food packs. Mood craps. Rude traps."

"Traps," Jinx mutters, then all of a sudden, her usually dull eyes brighten. "Traps! Nubu, you're a ge- rather, you're good at traps, right?"

"Of course." I nod.

She can't hold back a small smirk. "How would you feel if I told you that I found some rope?"

**Constance von Trapp, District One**

"This is so boring," I moan, dragging my feet and glaring at Brucite. "There's nothing to do! I didn't know that the arena would be so…"

"Boring?" Coral supplies.

I cock an imaginary finger gun at her. "Exactly!"

Slate glances up at me, face conflicted like he's about to say something. But as soon as he opens his mouth, he shuts it and goes back to sharpening his scythe.

A smirk crosses my face. Maybe he's learning his place.

"I say we hunt for more tributes," Percy says nonchalantly.

"I second that!" I chirp, eyes darting throughout the remaining five.

Coral's shaking her head for some reason, Brucite is unresponsive, and Slate appears to be pretending to not listen. Nothing big going on, and it's killing me.

"Oh, come on!" I fume loudly, glaring. "This is so incredibly boring, you guys! At least if we went out to hunt, we'd have a change of scenery!"

"Yeah, like a red barn and a grey sky instead of just a grey sky." Slate rolls his eyes.

I frown under the knowledge that, in the Capitol, they're probably tiring of the same old bitter thing as well. Maybe I should start off on my own, just to cause a little drama. Find a weakling tribute, cut them up, and do it all with a winning smile for the camera.

Maybe with a streak of blood across my face when I come back will prove to Gloss, Cashmere, and all the rest that I'm not just another pretty face, that I can hold my own when it comes to killing. Maybe Slate will respect me more, too, and Brucite will finally take a hint and off himself.

"Well, I don't know about you four, but I'm going hunting." I grab a drawstring bag, add a plastic packet of crackers, a water bottle, a slim black umbrella, and a small white first aid kit. Snatching my rondel from the ground next to a crate and swinging the bag over my shoulder, I storm off.

Perhaps a bit of time to myself is just what the doctor ordered.

I sigh as I march up the hill, the gravel driveway shadowed by trees. The blackening sky is ominous, but there's always the structures to run for cover underneath. Aside from that, I have this lovely hat and an umbrella as well. I'm positive that the other tributes aren't nearly as well-equipped.

The walk takes about half an hour, but it gives me plenty of time to think and reflect. How is Gloss faring without me? God, do I miss him. I hope that his eyes are glued to the screen, praying every moment that it will be me that reigns victorious.

I step over a tuft of weeds disgustedly, crossing into a pasture that's fenced in. The rusty barbed wire fence looks bleak against the cloud cover, like somebody should take a picture of it or something.

It looks tough, but on the other side is a forest of thorny bushes. The perfect place for a small, scared tribute to hide out. Maybe even two. In the mindset of a small weakling, they'd think, _nobody would try to cross the fence in the first place, and the cover of thorns is promising._ Smiling a bit at the reverse logic, I start trying to cut the barbed wire.

I try sawing at it with my rondel for a long while, to no avail. Rust flakes sprinkling to the grassy ground is my only reward. How will I get to the other side now? I try stepping over the fence, but it's way too thick and heavy for me to even try to bend. In frustration I slam my hand down.

Immediately, I know that's a problem. A small barb drives through the palm of my hand and I reel back in sudden pain.

"_Crap!"_

I whirl around, clutching my palm. Examining it closer, I notice a small wound – a puncture hole, really – with blackish blood slowly trickling out, a ring of coppery rust surrounding it.

Despite my pain, I know that if there's rust inside my skin, it's not good. My head spins as I sit down on the bank, a good four feet away from the fence, and attempt to open the drawstring bag. Lucky for me, I packed a first aid kit.

The plastic cover is quickly shed, and I scramble around the medical supplies. What do I need for this?! An injection? Pills? I should probably clean the wound first.

Holding my right hand erect in the air and cautiously tilting the water bottle with my left, water cascades onto the wound, and the skin all around it. I hiss in pain, nearly dropping it but instead merely fumbling. I set it down next to me, hand shaking, and I reach for the slim white bar of soap that's mixed in with all the other medical supplies.

Cleaning the wound thoroughly takes time, but the reward will be far greater. The puncture hole doesn't sting quite as much anymore, but that doesn't mean it's healed. There's a lot less blood, though, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.

But it's still bleeding, and it's still an open wound. I… I don't know what to do. The medicines inside the first aid kit are mainly for illnesses like colds, fevers, and sore throats. Bandages are plentiful. There's some cream for bee stings, and even a small flask of tonic that you pour on top of a welt, according to the instructions, but nothing for an open wound or puncture hole.

I turn my face to the sky, pleading silently in hopes that Gloss will answer me, and I croak out, "Anybody… please help me."

Almost immediately, the sound of something whooshing through air descends next to me, and I warmly unwrap the silvery parachute. Inside lies a small greenish container, and when I pry the metal lid off of it, there's a turquoise-colored gel.

I almost cry with joy as I apply it to the wound, despite the pain I feel. Watching in fascination as blood bubbles out of the hole, mingling with the soothing gel, is incredible.

I turn back to the parachute and notice a note tucked neatly inside a corner, hastily folded. Curiously, I pluck it out. What is it? A note from Cashmere, telling me not to be so clumsy and stupid?

_You're doing lovely so far, Connie. Just be careful, your allies are stronger than you may think. They're not bloodthirsty as you may suspect, just misunderstood. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't keep your guard up. The so-called 'Careers' are going to split soon. Panem is buzzing about it._

_I love you. Gloss._

My head spins, and all I can do is tenderly tuck the note into my breast pocket. I swivel my face up to the sky, cowboy hat tumbling back a bit, and whisper, "I love you, too."

_Gloss_.

**A/N: Oh No! by Marina and the Diamonds.**

_**15th- Alexis Tress, District Nine. A shove to the shoulder.**_

_**14th- Alister Rain, District Five. Killed by sheepdog muttations.**_

**Rose- I loved Alexis with all my heart. Her personality was so sweet, misunderstood, everything. :') Sadly, her life soon traveled down the wrong path, and her head injury was what her life revolved around. I loved her so much, but it was her time.**

**Inky- Alister was lovely, really. It made me sad to have to kill him off early because he was a repeat tribute, but hey, Jinx is still going strong ;)**

**Hey, people! It's been so long, yes? But, aha. You got a Contrary update yesterday, and now today A Shot in the Dark? Whaaaaaat? :D And yeah, I'm back from my vacation, yay for me. **

**We're on Day Two and we're almost reduced to half the tributes! These Games will be going fast, yo. (I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I have so much more planned out, and you can expect a minimum of at least thirty chapters by the time we end our time here.)**

**All right, the summary for today? Nessa shocked herself and her new ally when she pushed Alexis off the edge, Willa's dream team split up (but later rejoined, for all but Willa!), Slate, Percy, and Brucite had a guy's talk, Alister and Arthur had a last touching moment, Willa and Arthur may or may not be allying, Nubu's on a downhill spiral, though he did regain an ally, and Constance stabbed herself through the hand, though the result of that was greater than anything.**

**Kaythanksbye.**

**QUESTION TIME, LOVELIES :D **

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Thoughts on each death?**

**3. Favorite and least favorite POV?**

**4. Predictions for the upcoming chapter?**

**5. Who do you PREDICT will die before the top ten, and who do you WANT to die before the top ten?**

**And general thoughts? ;) **


	24. This Is

**.**

**_Scream like a banshee, make you jump out of your skin._**

**Percy Brizo, District Four**

The ring of Careers is silent, everybody wiping their weapons clean. The tension in the air is obvious, though, and it makes me shudder when I realize that, sooner or later, maybe even _today_, we're all going to split up.

Constance catches my eye and grins half-heartedly, sticking her tongue out playfully. I can only look at her in silent boredom, but he looks back at Brucite.

Coral, to my left, is shrouded in an oversized sweatshirt she grabbed from a locker inside the Cornucopia. I can't help but admit that yes, I am checking her out a bit, but in no way does that mean I like her. Like and admiration are two completely different things, a line that I'm never going to cross.

My eyes flicker around, and I feel like I should suggest going hunting once again. It's all I ever do. Nobody else takes control over here, including Slate, even though it's obvious he thinks himself of the leader. He's a _bit_ arrogant, isn't he?

I start to feel a bit hot and trapped in the flannel jumpsuit, so I unbutton about ten rows of the neatly aligned buttons and peel it down, revealing the black sleeveless top underneath it all. I still feel a bit uncomfortable, but it's better than nothing.

"Should we do anything?" I find myself asking.

"Shall we?" Coral murmurs from next to me. At first I think she's being all old and scholarly on me, correcting my grammar or whatever, but then she adds, "I'd be all for it."

"Same here." Brucite ducks his head.

Constance and Slate trail after me silently as I collect my bow, slinging the quiver of arrows onto my back. Without another word, we're off, everybody with a small backpack and carrying their weapons of choice.

I feel a small surge of pride that they're pushing me to be the leader. Stuff like that, that's made me feel important over the years. Whenever Grover stepped back into his old submissive self, allowing me to take the reigns, it gave me a bit of pleasure. It's not that I'm power hungry or anything, but the fact that I can have power and control gives me glee.

"I think we should start in the buildings first," I speak up. "Most likely, some dim-witted tributes are hiding out there and trying to evade us."

"That sounds good," Coral echoes, her eyes connecting with mine briefly. After a moment, she offers a tentative smile.

Tramping up the mucky gravel driveway that leads to the main buildings, I hear a faint patter of rain. Lovely, all we need is intense weather just like yesterday.

"I can only hope that there's no lightning today," I mutter, gaining a few nods and chuckles in agreement.

"Remember when the silo burned down?" Constance asks, her hot-headed nature a lot more cooled down today. "Pretty freaky. I saw a couple tributes run out of there, too, so you were right, Percy. They are hiding out in buildings."

"Exactly!" I flash a grin, my grip loosening on my bow.

Taking long strides up the hill, away from the safe cover of the silver horn, we arrive at the heavy, thick doors of the barn. With a shove of my hand, one creaks open and we enter.

A musty smell invades my nostrils, and in disgust, I pull the cotton-thin tank top over my nose and mouth. My allies follow suit, groaning in revulsion.

"It reeks like an attic in here!" Constance shrieks, stumbling backwards.

I roll my eyes. "It's old wood, Constance. Of course it would smell like an attic."

She dusts herself off and glares at me.

Feeling morbidly curious, I sling my bow onto my shoulder and begin to poke around. There's no immediate threats facing us in the face, and besides, there's a bunch of super cool stuff in here. A rusty old tractor, missing one of its small front wheels and tilting to that side, is in the corner. Hay dusts the ground, creating a sort of blanket.

There's a ladder leading up to a loft – a hay loft, I believe – with the last rung brushing against the floor. But about ten feet perpendicular to that, which somewhat frightens me, is a rather large, dried and cracking puddle of crimson blood. A few strands of pale blond hair are plastered to the ground.

"Whoa," I murmur, crouching down and tracing my finger around the edge. Somebody must have fallen over the edge of the hay loft. Rather impudent of them, honestly, to think they could make a hideout up there.

"I don't think there's anything here," Coral speaks up.

"You're right," I sigh, glancing around. "The least we can hope for is that the rest of the tributes fall over the edge of the hay loft like this unfortunate one did." I jab my thumb at the blood splatters.

Slate hisses through his teeth, and Brucite cringes. Coral and Constance just look intrigued. "That's kind of strange," Constance murmurs.

"I'll say."

"No, really." She bends down, one hand on her black cowboy hat, and runs her fingertips over the top. "It's still a bit wet. Didn't the cannon that shot most recently happen last night?"

"Yes," Slate answers.

She wrinkles her nose. "So the Gamemakers didn't collect the body right away. He or she bled out for a while first. Maybe they had a bit of trouble getting the hovercraft claw thing inside the barn."

"That's repulsive," I say.

Constance shrugs, eyes flickering over to the red stain again. "Weird, and repulsive, yes, but also interesting."

I shrug. "Anyways, are we moving on out?"

Mutters of assent.

I note with a small burst of satisfaction that everybody trails after me, not even trying to take the lead. Even Slate hefts the butt of his scythe onto his shoulder, making serious eye contact with the floor as he follows me.

The next place I look at is a tall silo, much larger and lengthier than the one that burned down the other night. The two were side-by-side, so I admit I'm a bit surprised and curious as to why this one didn't burn down as well.

From what I can tell, there's no clear way inside of it, aside from a ladder that snakes up the side, though its lowest rung is about thirteen feet off the ground. The silvery rings surrounding the silo jut out just a bit, though you'd have to have lots of patience and very precise movements in order to get up to the ladder.

"Shall one of us try it?" Coral asks softly, her eyes trained on the ladder, fingers gripped tightly around the handle of her trident.

Nobody else steps up to the plate, and I admit that I'm extremely curious, so I volunteer myself. "I'll go up, and if I fall and break my neck, Slate can be leader." I wink light-heartedly.

Slinging my bow onto my back and crushing my quiver between my top and the weapon, I start on the first silvery ring of the silo, fingers sweating already. I can see the bones in my fingers straining as I pull my feet up to a lower ring.

Somehow, methodically, step by step becomes gradually easier as I near the ladder. The entire process takes one or two minutes for each ring, since I have to keep reaching down and wiping my hands on my pants, but I make it to just below the ladder. I'm not that high up, perhaps seven feet, when my right hand slips on sweat and my left hand clutches the bottom of the ladder. Dangling by that hand, I stare down at the ground to connect with the widened eyes of my allies.

My heart thumps, my mind spins, and every legible thought inside of my head turns to mush. I try to say something, but all that comes out is a weak croak. I struggle to swing my other hand up to the ladder, but it's too short.

_If I jump down, nobody would blame me. But it's the cowardly thing to do. _

"You can do it, Percy!" Coral's melodic voice meets my ears. It's almost lost around the sudden swirling of the wind, unearthing unrest among delicate leaves and swinging branches, but it's enough.

Gritting my teeth, I kick my legs to the silo, and they connect with the silver ring. It forms a sturdy standing point. Using this for support, I cautiously pry my fingers from the rung, quickly plastering my right hand to it and then my left.

"You're doing great!" The gruff voice of Slate is music to my ears. I grin down at my four allies, each pair of eyes staring right at me.

"I'm on the ladder!" I cheer, using my grip on the ladder to sort of pull myself up, knees bending oddly in order to touch the ring of silver just below the ladder. From there, the climb up the ladder is easy. It takes a mere couple of moments to hoist myself up to the silvery, bulbous top. It looks like a rounded top of a tent, almost, except ginormous.

_How do I get in?_ I debate to myself silently, eyes flickering around the roof and the small amount of standing room there is. One wrong step and you'd slide off the curved, slippery metal roof to fall to your death below. It's even higher than the hay loft.

My eyes fall upon a small, dark opening just a couple of feet away. "I know how to get in!" I holler, glancing off-handedly down the silo. I nearly gape at how high I really am- my allies are, quite literally, the size of ants. Well, maybe large wasps, but they're far down nonetheless.

My fingers scrabble around the roof for a moment, finding something – anything – to grip onto. I find a small handle, most likely for this very sort of situation.

I hoist myself up, fingers struggling to hold onto the small knob, as my legs swing themselves onto the roof. Panting with exhilaration, I basically throw myself onto the platform.

"I-I made it!" I shout down, proud of myself fully.

And as I start moving around the top of the roof, admiring the splendid view of the plantation-like arena, my heart warms. Not with the knowledge that is dark, that I am going to have to kill somebody else sooner or later, but pride and happiness.

**Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve**

"Lux, are you hungry?"

She glances over at me, smiles softly, and shakes her head.

She blames herself for Alexis's death. Right after the incident, she started howling her head off, darting out of the barn like she was on fire. Then the waterworks started, a sob after a wail after a bawl after a cry. She kept sobbing into my shoulder, proclaiming loudly that "It- it's all my fault! I should've gone up and got her!"

And of course, I was there to soothe her. It's all I'm good for, really, despite the fact that her head on my shoulder was nerve-wracking and terrifying at the same time. I imagine that it's good, though, to slowly ease myself off of my fear of touch, especially with somebody as docile as Lux. My past isn't something that I should worry her about.

"Come on, Lux," I coax. "Just a roll? You haven't eaten since yesterday around the bloodbath, and it's nearly noon! "

"I'm not hungry," she mumbles.

I shake my head, causing my hat to go askew. Adjusting it carefully, I glare playfully at her. "Little Miss Sephina!" I say in a high, haughty tone. "I do declare, eat your roll or there shall be no supper for you!"

Lux shakes her head sadly, forcing a smile. "I don't deserve supper."

My shoulders slump a bit. "C'mon, Lux, you gotta eat something!"

She looks at me with soft, wet brown eyes. "Surtr," she says gently. "I promise, I'll eat once I'm hungry, okay?"

I smile grimly. "_Alright_," I say, dragging the word out. "I just don't want to lose another ally."

"You won't, I promise." The edges of her pink lips curve upwards. "Not if I have anything to do with it."

"That's good." I sit back, nesting comfortably in the crook of the branch.

When we fled from the barn, we ran for about ten minutes up a grassy, weed-infested pasture to this small forest, filled with oak trees. You can't make a step without cracking down on an acorn. But every tree is so large, and littered with branches besides. It was nearly impossible not to find a good, flat branch to comfortably sit in.

I run my hands over the clear bag for a moment, feeling the outlines of the remaining six hard rolls, and the clunky tube of our water thermos. Rainwater has been easy to collect, though I'm not sure that it's so healthy.

"Should we move?" I question, tilting my head slightly towards Lux.

She shakes her head. "I think we're fine where we are. We've seen no signs of anybody, besides."

"You're right." I nod a couple times, pulling out the small pocketknife from the bag, my fingers brushing lightly over the wooden handle. "Hey, what are the odds that we both get our weapons of choice?"

She peers over at me. "You wanted a pocketknife?"

"No, throwing knives is what I'm best at. But I suppose that this could be transformed into a throwing knife, too, yes?"

Lux giggles lightly. "It depends which blade you have pointing out."

With a press of a button, three different blades swing out of the small contraption, thus sliding briskly along my skin and cutting it. Placing my thumb to my mouth, I examine them. "You're right. There's a serrated edge, a very short and pointy blade, and a regular two-sided one."

"You could throw it like a Frisbee if you had all three blades out. Maybe it would slash on the skin or something."

"That's what a chakram is for," I reply, winking. "I don't think we had any of those this year."

"Yeah, I don't think so either. Everybody's using bows and arrows or knives, I've seen."

I pull myself to my feet, clinging to another branch for support. "You observed everybody and their weapons of choice?"

"I did." Lux bows her head briefly. "Aside from her Morningstars, Alexis loved climbing. Didn't you see her scale the climbing wall? She was like a squirrel."

"I saw." A ghost of a smile breezes over my face. "She was so vibrant up there."

There's an awkward silence between us, and Lux hops down from her perch. "Anyways, I think you're right. We should…. We should keep moving. If we're constantly on the move, it'll be harder for the Careers to catch us, right?"

"You're right." I swing my legs over the rough bark of the tree, the flannel not providing very good protection from the pointiness.

Lux holds her quiver of arrows carefully, tightly to her side, the other hand clutching the bow. Unsure of where to put the clear bag, I simply grip the top with my fingertips, the pocketknife (double-sided blade exposed) in my right hand.

Together we walk silently through the small forest, eventually coming to the edge of the tree line. Tall, rustling green weeds immediately shudder in the suddenly fierce wind, and the top of a particularly large one smacks my lips.

"Is this a good idea?" I wonder aloud.

Lux looks grim for a moment. "Could you slash away at them with the knife?"

I hold up the small handheld knife, then attempt to swipe out at a patch of weeds. Instead of cutting cleanly through, they simply bend, and spring back up once the knife is gone. "That's not a possibility. Either my knife is too little, or the weeds are too strong and starchy."

"Well, where'd we come from?" Lux puts a hand on her hips. "Maybe we should go through that pasture instead. This one could have snakes and stuff inside it."

"Yeah, and I hate snakes." I shake my head briskly. "I think to get back, we go a little bit inside of the forest, turn left, and just head straight from there."

"No, didn't we go diagonally?"

"Look, it's a small forest," I say, my voice getting lost in the blustery gales. I speak up. "Might as well try to go along the tree line and see where we end up."

Lux agrees with a small nod of her head, tangly brown hair blowing in the piercing winds. Taking the lead, I move forward, cutting through the weeds with sharp kicks of my legs.

_See, this isn't so bad_, I tell myself as I stride past trees, howling winds and bristling plants. _Lux is great, and I have a feeling that we can really get far together. If only the Careers stay away from us, we can battle anything that comes in our path._

**Jinx Tesatsu, District Six**

"Are you ready now?" I ask impatiently, watching as Nubu slowly ties a sturdy knot in the thin rope.

"Not quite yet," he says, glaring. "Patience is a virtue."

I sigh, crossing my arms and fiddling with the tips of my curly black hair. Waiting takes forever. Back when I was in Six, I never did like waiting for my potential victims.

After a couple more minutes of waiting, he pronounces his completed work with a beam and an unsteady gaze. "There, when somebody toes the line they should get snapped up into this noose."

"I don't understand how you do it," I mutter, running my hands over the knots. Shrugging – it's Nubu, after all, and I doubt he even knows what he's doing – I throw it over my shoulder. "Let's go to the Cornucopia, then."

"Already ahead of you," he says proudly, hoisting his backpack onto a shoulder and nearly bouncing on the toes of his feet. "Come on, Jinx."

I follow his bouncing form as he runs down the grassy pasture hill, swerving through tall clumps of weeds and thistles. The Careers left the Cornucopia about an hour ago, leaving us plenty of ample time to leave a simple trap for one of them. They're definitely our biggest competition, and though I may be sadistic, I'm not a complete idiot. I know that our pathetic, fragile alliance definitely won't hold against them, and I'm not even sure Nubu actually knows how to work that katana.

We reach the Cornucopia, and Nubu's practically buzzing with excitement as he scampers onto the roof of the Cornucopia, nearly getting blown off by the sudden wind. I snag the brim of my hat with two fingers as a gust whooshes right by my head. Multiple black curls are suddenly disrupted.

"Hurry up," I bellow to the small boy, scowling darkly. My head whips from side to side as I search silently for any sign of the Careers. Nothing so far, but we haven't exactly been very lucky so far.

"I'm hurrying, cool your jets!" Nubu hollers back as he slithers about, his hands working knots into small grooves in the curved Cornucopia. "This stuff isn't exactly easy…"

I roll my eyes and slump against the mouth of the Cornucopia, eyes scanning silently for a sort of weapon that I could try and use. But they've either blown away, been raided, or the Careers are using them, because aside from the glimmer of a couple pocketknives and some sorry backpacks, there's nothing.

It takes ten minutes for Nubu to finish up, and as he clambers down silently from the top of the shimmering horn, I watch him. Why is he even my ally? Obviously he's unstable, wouldn't it just be easier to take him out right now? I frown slightly as his limber form scoops up a small backpack from the ground and sifts through it. He produces a tiny white roll of bandages, to which he promptly shoves in one of his pockets.

"Hey, Nubu, I think that-"

A sudden whizzing, just behind my ear, makes my heart stop dead mid-beat.

Stricken, both Nubu and I whirl around to come face-to-face with the frowning face of Percy Brizo, dark eyebrows contorted in confusion as he watches his shaky arrow fly into the ground, some twenty yards away. Percy's gaze snaps back to me, and his scowl deepens. He fumbles for another arrow.

"Nubu, get the hell out of here!" I spit out, my knife at the ready. I'm about to charge Percy when behind the Cornucopia appears Constance von Trapp and Coral Fisher, both of their expressions hardened. And judging by the two pairs of footsteps behind me, Slate Bessarion and Brucite Gergeon have showed up to party, too.

This won't end well.

I swallow thickly, glaring at Percy and only Percy. Like I've said, I'm not stupid. I've realized that he's the only one who deals with far-range weapons, and up close, wouldn't he be at _such_ a disadvantage? From behind him, Coral takes a couple of feeble steps forward.

"We've got your back, Percy," she calls, her voice sounding so youthful and innocent.

"Get away," I hiss at her, hoping that she's easily intimidated. Her wide eyes give her an easily frightened look, after all. Maybe she'll drop her pathetic trident and run as fast as her scrawny legs will take her.

That would sure be nice.

"You've given us no choice," she growls to me, sounding about as scary as a kitten. "You… you challenged us, our alliance, and we can't let that happen!"

Wind whistles past us, causing an uproar of colorful leaves and a numb feeling in my ears. I grip my knife tighter, spreading my feet apart slightly as to get a sturdier stance. But I can't focus on the weather. My full attention is on Coral, who's currently nothing more than an annoying bug in an otherwise perfect world.

"Your alliance?" I force a laugh. "Sweetheart, your time's been up forever. You're deadweight."

Coral's soft scowl darkens suddenly. "I killed your ally! I _know_ I'm dangerous!"

"Poor little girl," I croon, my feet slowly sliding forward. Constance backs up a bit, confliction clear in her hazel eyes, and Percy's eyebrows are furrowed, like he's trying to figure me out. "So insecure, needing encouragement."

I sidle up to Coral, keeping a good gaze on the glimmering trident of hers. Her reflexes are crud, she couldn't lash out if she wanted to. And whether Coral likes it or not, she's suddenly isolated. Percy's backed up, as did Constance. I feel her breath hitch, and tears are already welling up in her eyes. Just as I suspected- she's obviously not as strong as she likes to think. She's fooling herself with that attitude.

"I think your time is up, little girl," I say softly, almost as if I were telling her something delicate and dainty. She doesn't expect it when my hand comes flying up, the glittering blade of the knife swiping across her abdomen and underneath the flannel of her jumpsuit.

"_Percy_!" she shrieks out, stumbling backwards. I hear a sudden snap of a bowstring and I fall to the ground. But not because of an arrow, because of my razor-sharp reflexes that have been honed for many, many years.

Constance runs towards me, and I kick up a leg, effectively causing her to trip with a screech. She lands, belly-first, onto the gravelly ground. A hollow sound escapes from her lips, the sound of wind being knocked out of her. My stare snaps back to Coral, who's currently doubling over, one arm already crimson with her own blood. She won't last a minute.

Slate and Brucite are both on me by the time I regain balance, but I easily deflect Slate's scythe that comes slamming down on my wrist with my own knife, and I even nick Brucite's fingers. He hisses in pain, clutching his mace as he examines the minor wound.

And then there's Percy again, his arm drawing back and releasing. I tumble to the side just in time, where the arrow flies back harmlessly. I scream, which mingles with Coral's loud sobs and Constance's groans of pain from being slammed onto the ground and the dying sound of the wind.

Everybody's confused, suddenly, and I see this as a prime time to escape. I inhale sharply, clutching my knife, and darting back towards the hill, the hill, the hill, the hill.

The _hill_.

It's all I can think of.

I hear an arrow flying one more time, and I barely have time to glance behind me before I realize it's not for me. Nubu, who somehow evaded all of this chaos by hiding behind a tree, is suddenly shrieking like a banshee, and I can only stare at the arrow, planted firmly in his stomach.

He stumbles up the hill after me, his lips quivering and his hands empty, free of the katana. I don't know what makes me do it – insanity? Humanity? Emotions? – but I grab his hand and drag him up after me. The Careers don't give chase.

Nubu and I stagger to the haybales, where Nubu promptly slumps against them, his face a sickly shade of chalky, ashen, bloodless, _white_. Even I don't have to be a doctor to know he's not going to make it.

"J-Jinx," he stammers, one hand flying up to the wound on his abdomen and dabbling in the blood.

I can only stare, trying to curb my instincts. "Nubu?" my voice comes gently, for once. I can't help but drag him closer to me gently, like he's a doll or a cat or something. He lies on the ground, defeated, and I move on top of him, one hand on either side of my head as I stare down at him. This is _so_ out of my character and I _can't_ help it, but…

But he's the only thing that's kept me calm, through these numbered days in the arena. By being insane, he's kept _me_ sane.

I swallow dryly as he looks up at me, his eyes crossing and uncrossing dizzily. "Jinx?" He tries again.

"Yes?"

A broken, cracked smile appears on his face as one hand reaches up to my hair, tugging on a black lock. "Your hair's on fire…" he says softly, like a chant. "You must've lost your wits…"

My hair. He must see how it's illuminated by the sun, poking out behind an ominous cloud. I remember that dismal day of training, when he first met me, how he wanted to much to see my hair go on fire, however stupid a dream it was. And his wish is fulfilled.

Those are his last words. A cannon erupts, rippling from somewhere deep inside the earth, and I can only think of Nubu, how his heart must have dulled down until it… _died_.

_You must've lost your wits…_

**Brucite Gergeon, District One**

"C-Coral!" Percy's voice is slurred as he runs over to his district partner, obviously not caring that Jinx is high-tailing it to the hills. Clearly her ally's hurt, but I don't know why she, a brutal killing machine, would have allied with him, an unstable, scrappy kid.

"Is she okay? Oh my God!" Constance wheezes from her spot on the ground, finally realizing that all the members of our team aren't alright. I'd run to Coral myself, I'd get her a bandage or something, but with my luck, everybody probably thinks that I'd try to poison her.

"I- I can't…" Coral gasps for air, her gaze falling on Percy. "I need a b-blanket…"

"I'll get one from the Cornucopia!" elects Slate, bounding over to the mouth of the Cornucopia. I turn back to Coral, nibbling on my lip in mid-thought when all of a sudden-

_"__GOD! I'M STUCK!"_

Clutching my mace, I glance over to the curved horn in time to see Slate, arms flailing frantically and eyes wide in fright, clutching frantically at the rope- the rope that's currently tightening around his neck!

I frantically fumble around for a blade – a razor, a knife, anything – before I spot his scythe. I snatch it up and run over in long strides, quickly dragging the tip across the thin rope and setting him free. Slate collapses in a heap, his hands at his throat.

"Dude, are you okay?" My voice, to my horror, is shaky.

Slate rises with as much dignity as one can have after recovering from such a fall, and glares haughtily at me. "You did this to me, didn't you?"

"W-What?" I stammer out, backing up as Slate advances on me. My heart hammers against my chest.

"You!" he growls, his fists nearly shaking with rage. "You tied a noose right there!"

"Why would I tie a noose for you, only to cut you free?" I argue, my voice cracking a bit. "Sl-Slate, c'mon man!"

"He's right," Percy calls over, his voice ragged and tired. "Doesn't make much sense!"

Slate's scowl doesn't lift, and his stare doesn't, either. "You're walking on thin ice, here, buddy," he hisses out to me menacingly. Instead of the trained guy I've always felt like, I feel like a cowering dog, slinking away with its tail between its legs. How can I be reduced to that, when all my life, _I've_ been the one to beat?

"I'm being honest, Slate!" I protest feebly.

He grabs his scythe out of my hands and glowers at me, visibly trembling. "Watch your back," Slate says bluntly, and without another word, he's off, storming towards the hills.

I turn back to my fellow allies, my hands trembling. My eyes catch Percy's. "Y-You guys believe me, don't you?" I croak out.

Constance simply glares, her hands protectively wrapped around Coral's convulsing form. All I can see of Coral is the top of her head, blond hair wrapped in a braid. Percy looks away.

"I don't know, man," he sighs, his tone defeated. "Like, you kind of did get Serafina… not here… you know?"

My heart sinks. I'm not meant to be like this, I'm meant to be the best! It's what I've trained for!

"But it wasn't on purpose!" I protest, trying my hardest not to snarl. "Guys, you've gotta believe me!"

"We _can't_," Constance hisses. "Now stop being so self-absorbed and get over here and help us with Coral, unless you're planning on dousing her in kerosene and 'accidentally' tossing a match over here!"

I swallow past the lump in my throat, moving over quickly to the three. "I don't see any bandages-" I begin.

"_Get some_!" cries out Coral, her tone truly defeated.

I'm startled by her outburst. My movements jittery and quick, I stumble over my own feet as I try to search for a backpack, a first aid kit, something. Maybe if I prove myself, they'll accept me back into their blatant little tribe.

My feet run through the piles of discarded backpacks, their interiors ridded of stuff and shoved into the lockers inside the Cornucopia. _Ah_, the lockers! A light bulb beams in my head and I dart inside the mouth of the horn, making sure it's trap-free first. My fingers close around a silver padlock, and I enter the simple combination that we'd all agreed on – one, one, two – and fumble around the shelves for a moment, trying to feel around for gauze, or _anything_, really.

My fingers close around a roll of bandages, tucked behind a thin blanket, and I nearly slam my hand in the locker door in excitement. Running like a shot back to Percy, Coral, and Constance, I throw the bandages out in front of me.

Constance and Percy get to work, lying Coral on the hard ground and unbuttoning the front half of her jumpsuit, revealing tight black shorts and a matching black tank top. Pulling the top up halfway, about six inches above her belly button, reveals a nasty gash just across it, still bleeding out.

I gasp quietly, a hand flying to my mouth as Constance tentatively prods the skin around it, making Coral whimper in pain. Percy the stoic one immediately begins wrapping the bandage around her abdomen, his mouth puckered slightly in disgust.

"I can't look," breathes Coral. "Is it bad, Constance?"

Constance mutters something in reply, probably a denial and some soothing words, but I don't stick along long enough to hear. I grab the handle of my mace and dizzily start wandering away, repulsed by the sight of blood.

I was never meant for medical, healing skills like this. I was always meant for one purpose, that's what I was trained and taught to do. Injuring, however sickening it may be to some. In a way, it's how I was accepted. It's how I survived, how I got along.

Girls marveled at my skills, and I was shallow, and so I went along with it.

_Way back when._ I laugh stiffly to myself, dragging the end of the mace along the tannish gravelly ground. Back when I was a fool, deluding myself in believing that I had a chance at being victor. When I thought that the worst thing ever was simple drama.

This is a lot worse than drama, this is _hell_.

I swallow thickly, gripping the handle with all my might. All I want is to be accepted, to be admired for what I'm worth. And here? They're not accepting me, they're… they're banishing me.

It's like my childhood, all over again.

**A/N: This is Halloween composed by Danny Elfman.**

**_13_****_th_****_- Nubu Chandlers, District Ten. An arrow to the abdomen. _**

**Tasherekalb- I literally can't. Nubu was my baby. He was everything. He was, ugh, so wonderful, and I still can't believe that I killed him off. He was amazing in every way, personality included, but as his illness progressed, that was what his thoughts revolved around, and it grew more and more difficult to understand. But ****_ugh_****, I just adored Nubu so much.**

**Hey, y'all. Hope you're all enjoying school, eat lots of powdered donuts, drink apple cider, enjoy autumn, yeah, I have legitimately nothing to say. :33 We're so close to the top 12, though, so yay!**

**Summary for the end of Day Two! Percy climbed a silo and did some deep thinking, Surtr and Lux were adorable like always, and reflected on their lives, Jinx and Nubu got a Career confrontation with ended with Nubu's death and an injury for Coral, and Brucite's slowly loathing himself. Nice, eh?**

**Oh, and about the different type of question, the quote one- basically, your favorite quotes from a character, whether it was said or not. For example, Brucite- '****_this is a lot worse than drama, this is hell'_**** would be one.**

**Questionsssssss, y'all (I'm a cowboy, yeehaw :3)**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Favorite/least favorite POV's and why?**

**3. Top three favorite quotes from each character?**

**4. Predictions for the next chapter?**

**5. Be honest, which songs have you looked up?**

**6. General thoughts, and how was my writing?**


	25. Miss Y

_**.**_

_**I'm about to play the game 'cause I'm running out of time.**_

**Coral Fisher, District Four**

"A lovely night, isn't it?"

My voice pierces the crisp night air like one of Percy's arrows through a target. I snuggle inside my sweatshirt a bit more, watching the blazing oranges and yellows and reds leap high into the backdrop of ink. A bonfire is definitely nice on such a chilly night.

Even though my stomach hurts a lot from the wound that Jinx distributed to me, it's mainly patched up now. A silver parachute bearing a small jar of whitish topical cream immediately stopped the blood and even stopped the shiny, tight, inflamed skin from spreading any further. Still on my guard, but otherwise I'm doing just peachy. It also had a small pill, which a small note from Gloss Catch dictated that it was meant for Constance. In confusion we'd all watched as she gulped it down, only to shrug and say she felt fine.

"I agree with you there!" Constance chirps, wrapping her arms around her knees and drawing them close to her chest. "A fire is just what the doctor ordered, too."

"We still have to be on our watch," Percy warns, his voice half-bored and half-polite. He's so silly when he tries to take control like that, but it's obvious that the leader position is split between Constance, Slate, and him. They each want it so badly. Me, I'm more submissive than anything, but I can still be lethal if I want to be. Annabell clearly proved that. And Brucite's like a dog, slinking away with its tail between its legs. He couldn't be leader if he wanted.

"A nice night," I yawn, not really caring what Percy's saying, but darn, he's cute. No- I can't think that. Percy is annoying. He is a big meanie. He is not cute or anything like that… right?

"I'm getting pretty tired, actually," Slate cuts in, turning away from the blazing fire for a moment. He swipes a couple beads of sweat off of his ruddy cheeks. "I think I'm going to hit the sack. Who's going to take first watch?"

I glance at Brucite, his purplish, sleep-deprived cheeks prominent. He needs sleep. Slate and Percy, too. They've been working really hard. "Constance and I can, if you like," I say softly. "We'll wake you up in a couple of hours."

"Honestly?" asks Slate, his eyes meeting mine. Feeling sort of shy, I avoid his gaze. He huffs and puffs for a moment in mild offense, but when he realizes I'm not going to look back at him, he sighs and starts heading for the Cornucopia.

Brucite looks at me, hollow eyes sunken in and deadened. "I can stay up with you guys, if you want," he says.

"No, it's fine-"

"Yeah, I agree." Constance is surprisingly agreeable, almost amiable in that aspect. She offers him an unpredictable, soft smile and it even reaches her eyes. What game is _she_ getting at? I squint. The last time she offered so much as a wink at him was well before interview day.

"I-" I begin, but Constance interrupts with a brisk, somewhat aggressive tone.

"I think he should go to sleep," she hisses from between her teeth, eyes flickering over me in annoyance. Looking back at Brucite and offering him another grin, she gestures with a flap of her hand to the Cornucopia. "I'm serious. Y'all deserve some rest. And believe me." Constance winks. "We'll wake you up in all due time."

There's a certain tone underlying her voice that makes me frown slightly. Malice and spite, maybe? But who am I to judge? She's obviously making an attempt to bury the hatchet with Brucite. I should be glad.

So why do I feel so upset?

Constance stretches out in a sleeping bag by the fire, the light casting eerie-looking shadows across the defined contours of her face. "It really is nice to have a bit of girl time," she sighs.

"I agree."

"The boys have been _so annoying_. Don't you think?" Constance gives me a genuine smile.

"Not really," I say, frowning a bit. "I mean, Slate's been a bit domineering, more so than usual, but I'd say that we're, um, getting along pretty well."

"No, seriously." She gives a slight chuckle, like she already knows I'm on her side. But am I? "Percy? Come on, he totally has the hots for one of us."

"How do you know?" I test the waters, trying to make my voice sound upbeat and not curious at all.

Another laugh. "Coral, it's so obvious! He can't concentrate, and he keeps looking over at our group with a stupid smile on his face. You'd have to be blinder than a bat to not see it."

A funny feeling crawls into my belly, like a stomach virus or something like that. "I have noticed, I guess," I fib. "That look in his eyes, you know?"

"Just a hunch," Constance says with a bright, superior look in those hazel eyes of hers. "I think that he likes you."

"No," I say immediately.

"Huh?"

"He doesn't like me."

"How can you be so sure?"

"He just doesn't."

"…Coral, you're being stupid. He _does_ like you- oh, and I bet _you_ like _him_?"

"What?"

"This is so great!" She clasps her hands together, grinning like an idiot.

"Constance, I don't like him!"

"You like Percy!" she sing-songs.

"Shut up!" I nearly tackle her. I try to flap my arms from my oversized sweatshirt. "C-Constance, they are right over there in the Cornucopia!"

"Maybe he'll hear me, then he can return the feelings!"

"Put a cork in it, Constance!" Bubbles of anger erupt like hot fire in my chest. She's being so stupid! "I don't frigging like him!"

She looks over at me, trying to hide her big old smirk. "Ooh, swearing?"

I glare.

"Coral." Constance puts her hands on my shoulders. "I promise, I will help you get the man. God, I'm good at that."

"Constance," I begin to splutter. She hushes me.

"You know what? I won't say a word." She winks. "Your secret is safe with me."

I don't say anything. My muscles feel numb.

"I'll let you get the man on yourself, though if you need me to talk him up for you…" She winks again. "Anything. Just give me the word."

Why not play her stupid game?

"Sure," I hear myself saying, and I get into it, nodding and trying to curve my lips up into a smile. "If I ever feel the need to get a boyfriend in the middle of the Hunger Games, Constance, you will be the first one that I'll tell."

The blond girl purses her lips. "You're being snarky, but I know you have a crush on him. I know it."

I bite my lip for affect, though I don't know if it's more for her or me. "You'll keep it a secret, though, right?"

"I swear." For the third time in a couple of minutes, she throws a wink at me effortlessly. She drags her finger across her lips. "My lips are sealed."

Feeling a rush of thankfulness, for some reason, I throw my arms across her in an awkward sort of hug. "Thanks a lot, Constance. I mean it."

I settle back into my sleeping bag, pulling my pale hair to the side with a rubber band. I'm thinking about such things as a boyfriend when I should be considering the right way to get out of this alliance. To be honest, I think it could fracture at any moment, and Finnick did tell me to be the first one out of here before it happens.

I want to get home, don't get me wrong. I want to see Kai and my parents again. I want things to be normal, to have my mother teaching me out of some old scrappy books and to go cliff diving and admiring the pretentious girls' clothes from afar. Even when I didn't have friends, my life was happy. I just want everything to be normal.

I never wanted to leave, not really.

I want to get out of here.

And nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to stop me.

**Constance von Trapp, District One**

I watch as Coral's eyes start fluttering closed. Sleep is getting to all of us. I'm glad, that means that the sleeping tonics I slipped into their drinks this morning are finally kicking in. And the caffeine pill that I just took also seems to be working. I'm as bright and alert as ever.

I wait a while more, staring into the seemingly endless pit of fire as gales start breezing around the place. I'm glad for a warm flannel jumpsuit and I pull my hands nearer to my stomach, chilly. I wonder what the Capitol will make of my next move, what Gloss will think of it.

Now's the time.

I start getting up, but Coral's immediately awake. She'd be awake if a feather drifted twelve feet away from her. "Where are you going? What- what time is it?" She yawns.

"We started watch about an hour ago," I reply, feeling somewhat upset that my plan has been foiled before it even began. I stride around the fire pit, slipping a rock the size of a cherry into my hand. "Look at the fire," I say in a hopefully dreamy voice. "It's, uh, so pretty, with all of the _colors_." I discreetly chuck the rock behind the Cornucopia, but it misses and bounces off of the metallic exterior.

"Somebody's there!" Coral nearly shrieks, and I want to yell at her to shut up. But instead, she snatches up her trident, eyes wide with apprehension and skittishness.

"Go ahead," I hiss at her, tucking my rondel into the sleeve of my jumpsuit and showing her my newly empty hands. "I'm going to grab my rondel! It's by the boys!"

I have to make this quick.

As Coral starts advancing at the spot where the rock collided with the Cornucopia, I start running to the mouth of the Cornucopia. I snatch a flashlight off of the ground and click it on. A dull beam flickers around, illuminating the passed-out bodies of Slate, Percy, and… and _Brucite_.

Bingo!

I slip the rondel from my sleeve, nicking my wrist on the way. I wince, wiping my thumb along the cut to swipe up the blood. Quickly, quickly. I lean down, roughly grab the side of his head and jerk it to the side. Brucite smacks his lips in his sleep, still drowsy. If he wakes up now, he'll be dead in an instant. I'll be sure of it.

Now's the time.

I lean over the rondel, making sure that it's starting to cut into his jugular, and draw the tip forward. But just as it pierces the skin, a soft gasp comes from behind me.

"Constance! What the heck are you doing?!"

My blood runs cold. Coral is back too early from her little mission. I whirl around, my rondel at the ready. It's not much, just a sign of defense, but Coral is oblivious to this.

"Y-You were trying to kill Percy!" she screeches, lurching forward with her trident in hand.

"No!" I shriek in response, ducking as she hurtles her trident towards my head. She-she's delirious! Why is she swinging on me? Does she have a fever?

"Don't lie to me!" Her voice is incredibly loud. I duck out of the Cornucopia, running to get better ground. Starting to dash after me, I thank my lucky stars that one of the boys has shifted in their sleep. She nearly trips over an arm as she dashes towards me.

"Coral!" I scream out.

Her eyes are mirthless, full of rage. Her trident swings out and I stagger backwards. "You tried to get Percy!" she repeats, her voice trembling. I realize that she's deaf to my side. Coral Fisher has finally snapped.

Instead of blind panic, a sudden state of calm washes over me. I grip the handle of my rondel, glowering at her. "You want to fight? _Fine_. Let's fight."

Coral's breath comes in ragged pants. "We're not just going to fight," she hisses, her knuckles white from grasping her trident so hard. "I-I'm going to _kill_ you…!"

I react by attacking first, swinging my rondel down on her shoulder blade. She barely swerves to the side in time, so the blade connects with the flannel of her jumpsuit instead, slicing down alongside her arm though air.

Coral's teeth are bared as she twirls around, her trident outstretched. Letting loose a thin cry of unpreparedness, I fall to the ground in another duck, letting it pass over me. But she doesn't stop there. Taking advantage of my situation, while I'm on the ground, she steps forward and tries to slam her trident's prongs down. She misses by a long ways, blinded by her fury.

As Coral tries to pull her trident from the ground, I duck to the side, my rondel still clutched firmly. She came dressed to kill, but I'm not going down without a proper fight. I'm going to wage battle for me. Myself. Victory. Family. Gloss.

I focus on two things- the Games, and… _him_.

And eventually, I'm going to win for him.

I pop up from the ground, scowling blackly at Coral as she starts spitting out another insult at me. "I-I never liked you," she growls. "You were obsessive, stuck up in everybody's business, and you- you never knew when to shut up!"

I shake my head, nose wrinkled in disgust. "You know who's obsessive?" I shoot back, not even caring that my voice wavers. "You, Coral. You're a slimy little girl who walks around like you rule the place, like you're so frigging innocent." I career forward, rondel pointed towards her abdomen. I only mean for it to be a threat, and she squeals a little and darts to the side.

"But do you know what?" I breathe, watching her carefully. She's wary, looking at me with a hurt expression on her face. "You're done 'ruling' the place. You're done, Coral, your time is _up!"_

A shrill noise that could be a battle cry escapes my lips as I charge forward again, effectively taking her off guard and knocking the trident from her hands. Coral gasps as it clatters some feet away, and I can barely contain a smile. She's never been one to keep her weapon in combat, has she? Annabell's fight, then Jinx's, and now me.

"I-I-" she stammers, suddenly not so fearless. But as if by a sudden jolt of adrenaline, she whips her arm out, connecting with the butt of the rondel, and sends it flying.

A gasp escapes me. I can't do hand to hand combat! I whirl around, looking for the glimmer of silver that would let me know where it's gone. But before I have a chance to do anything, Coral's jumped onto my back and she clutches blindly at my neck, her nails digging in like talons.

"St-Stop it!" I screech, bucking my head backwards and tumbling back. I fall on my back, and Coral lets out a broken-sounding wheeze.

I have the advantage here.

I fiddle with Coral's laced-together fingers and pry her off of my throat, and quickly straddle her before she can do anything else. Her big eyes are even wider, thin lips quivering in desperation. "Constance," she cries out softly.

But I have no mercy.

"Your time is up, little girl," I hiss as I send fist after fist into her throat, pummeling it and hearing crack after crack. Her screams aren't hard to miss as they silently fade into nothingness.

Her cannon shoots, resounding eerily through the night sky.

Collecting myself and my dignity, I heave myself off the ground and glance back at her. Sudden regrets and shame floods my system as I look at her, neck red and pink and inflamed. Her belly's bleeding, probably because of the weight I'd put on her. Arms, outstretched in a birdlike state. And her face, oh, God, it's the worst. Eyes, accusing and hardened. Lips, open as if to gulp down air.

Stammering, I start running. My legs dip low to the ground as my fingers loop around the strap of a small black backpack. I don't even look for my rondel. I just keep running, and running, and running, and running, and I don't look back.

I _killed_ her.

**Francis Theroux, District Six**

"This sucks."

Nessa nods in silent agreement as she swings her legs over the edge, not being very careful at all. She exhales, shoulders sagging downwards a bit.

"It's so dark and gloomy here," she mutters quietly.

"Agreed."

There's a bit of silence, and then Nessa asks quietly, "Francis? Can you, um, tell me a little more about your visions?"

I look at the back of her drooping head, fox ears seemingly wilted. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything," she replies after a moment of thought. "They just seem really interesting."

"I discovered them at quite a young age. Six or five or four, to be precise." I curl my knees up to my chest, trying to maintain warmth in the winds that nip the air. I run my fingers over a piece of straw with crystalline droplets of frost melting on it. "Thought that they were vivid paintings, sort of. That everybody experienced them. Thought that they were normal, really."

Nessa turns to me, her bottom lip sucked into her mouth. "But they aren't normal, are they?"

I chuckle. "Very rare, actually. I tried to explain them in detail to my parents. They didn't take too well to them until I was older. Thought I was a bit nutty in the noggin." I rap my knuckles on my head for good measure, evoking a little laugh from Nessa.

"You're not too nutty," she says.

I widen my eyes slightly, then let my arms droop to the ground. The ice-capped piece of straw floats to the ground. "Appreciated is your praise, but no. They said that I was a bit of an artistic savant, or could be, if I didn't hallucinate and daydream so much."

Her brow wrinkles like folds of paper. "So your hallucinations, your visions… they're all just vivid daydreams?"

I shake my head. "Daydreams are no part of it, just a side thing. Visions are the worst. Interrupt the most important times of my life, honestly. Private training. Interviews. Just before the Reaping."

"What were your visions about?" Nessa asks, her voice gentle and docile.

"Before the Reaping, I'd dreamt of, well, a meek boy with curly hair getting pulled onto a stage and being embarrassed. Next to him was a witch with dark features." Heat flushes my cheeks as I point to myself. "Obviously, I am the small boy with curly hair. Was very embarrassed when I saw Jinx, too."

"So it came true, then?"

I nod for a moment. "Yeah, I'd thought a lot about it. Visions had come true before, as well. Could immerse myself inside of them. They were small things, though." I frown. "Such as spilling a glass of juice, or getting paint over a textbook. Beforehand, when the visions happened, they'd be tricky to decipher. The spilled paint, for example, was represented by a bucket tipping over, splattering orange liquid onto a sheet of black and white nothingness."

"What other visions have you had?" Nessa appears genuinely interested. She scoots away from the edge and wraps her arms around herself, trying to warm herself up. "At the training session and at interviews, I mean."

"At private training, it was a field of sepia." I swoosh my hand through the air. "And a girl, brown hair, white dress. Walking, singing, hauntingly. Was incredible. She… spoke to me…"

I stare at the ground, suddenly numb. I recognize that woman. It was my mother.

A pure alabaster dress, swinging in the breeze. A haunting, deathlike melody floating through the air as her arm stretches out for a last goodbye…

I shake those thoughts free from my head. No. My mother's not dead, how could I be so stupid? It must be somebody in the arena, making a dress out of a sheet or something. Yes. I'm comprehending this all wrong.

… But what if I'm right? What if that music was her death soundtrack?

No.

I can't think like this.

Clearing my throat and trying to look more peppy, I add, "But the one during the interviews, um…"

"You shrieked in front of all of Panem," Nessa snickers and cracks a smile, eyes screwing closed as she laughs. "You said something about Caesar disrupting the visions?"

I nod, taking this very seriously. "One day he will be haunted by it, I swear."

"You're crazy."

"You think I'm crazy?" I sit back on my heels. "I can't argue with you. But I can say this; one day, I'm going to get a vision that will predict the entire future. Maybe it's happened, maybe it's yet to happen. But I'm going to do something that will change my fate, Nessa, and you can't stop me."

I immediately think of my vision at interviews. Perhaps the birdlike figure had something to do with my future? An eagle, it almost looked like. A mockingjay, a type of bird that was formed around rebels.

I heave myself off of the ground and stroll around, kicking my toe into the floorboards. "Should we stay here, or get a move on out?"

"I think we should keep moving," says Nessa. "We'd better leave before somebody else finds us like Lux, Surtr, and, um, her. Also, we need food. We're down to nothing."

She descends the ladder as I collect up the tote bag. I peer inside, only to find the diminishing first aid kit (we've been eating the vitamins in there for food) and the book of matches. My blade rattles against my leg, tucked inside a pocket. The water skin, nearly empty, is in one of Nessa's.

I go down the ladder, feet sliding down the rungs like they're greased. I hit the ground next to Nessa, and she offers me a soft smile.

"Outside the barn or inside?" I ask eagerly.

"I don't want to be in this building anymore," she calls over her shoulder, already moving towards the heavy barn doors. She slips through a crack and into the dreary day.

It's gloomy, bleak outside. The sky is a deep shade of grey, while the place is nearly shrouded completely by fog, thick as pea soup. Nessa gasps quietly, while I wave my hand out in it, trying to get a rise out of it. It's like a layer of clouds, really, on the ground. If I painted it, I'd most likely have to try and get a silver paint, layered on top of white. The other things, like trees and old plows, would be easier.

"Follow me," I say to Nessa. She nods, big brown eyes blinking innocently, and without another word, we're moving through the mist together. I feel fingers pinching the nape of my collar, which means that Nessa trusts me enough to guide her through the mist. I smile unwittingly, slipping between two rusty old tractors.

It's nice to be trusted.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

"So then, I pulled the lever, and down rained two pounds of flour!" Arthur's eyes shine as he excitedly jabbers on and on about a prank he'd played on his sister, Rhiannon.

"That's so cool," I chime in, offering him a smile.

"It was. She didn't think it was too funny, though." He frowns, scratching his chin for a moment before continuing, "Actually, she thought I was being immature. But all I wanted to do was make her laugh."

My heart swells up for this poor little guy. He's so oblivious and blind to the evils of the world, and at the same time such an optimist that you can't help but want to hug him. "I'm sure that she didn't mean it," I encourage him with a grin. "She probably was just upset that her hair was ruined. We girls are like that, you know."

"Really?" Arthur perks up a great deal, his lips stretching into a smile. "Well, that's good, then! I'm glad that you say that. I don't want her to hate me or anything."

"Aw, Arthur." I wrap him in a hug, and he heartily hugs back. "She won't hate you. I promise."

He puffs out his chest slightly, a smile lingering on his thin lips. "I'm happy, now. When I go back to District Three, then it means she will not be mad at me."

It made my heart ache, the honesty of all this. He honestly thought he could go back to Three. He was like a small child in that aspect, bolder and more brazen than the rest of us in saying that he had a winning shot. But the game to play is tougher than he thinks. He should know. He lost his ally to those dogs.

"It's quiet out here," I comment, listening to the fog seep across the pastures and through the stalks of corn. "Not that I mind, of course. It's just so serene."

Arthur sighs quietly. "It was quiet before Alister died, too."

I glance over at him, mouth puckered in concern. His eyes stare, blank and glassy, out at the whitish fog. His lips are curved downwards in a small, almost unnoticeable frown. He's hurting inside, I know it.

"If it makes you feel any better, I lost all of my allies." I sigh, ticking off their names. "Annabell died first, the girl from Four was too quick for her. And we saw Nubu's face in the sky, and truth be told, I think Jinx's independent power will get to her head too quickly."

My stomach tenses even as I say it, hoping with paranoia that Jinx isn't silently slinking around our area with that knife in her hand. Proves that even the boldest can fall, I guess. Look at me, I mean. I'm reduced to sweating coldly and looking around, all jittery. This is not the girl I wanted to become. I wanted to become a victor, grinning winsomely and waving gleefully.

A sudden thrashing noise in the corn behind me makes my heart freeze. I whirl around, Arthur a bit more slowly than I, and suddenly we're both staring into the big brown eyes of the little boy and girl from Six and Eleven.

I know I shouldn't attack them – my cheeks are blazing as I pull out Arthur's scythe from my pocket slowly – but two more kids down means a quicker ticket to home.

"D-Don't do it!" the girl whimpers, creeping and backing away, a mask of complete terror on her face. "P-Please spare us…"

I simply stare at her, my face devoid of emotion when inwardly, I'm trembling and having a breakdown. They're just two years younger than Arthur and I, yet they look so innocent…

The boy pulls out a blade from his pocket, the silver catching a faint ray of light and sending off a metallic glimmer. "We have no choice, Nessa," he sighs, surprisingly stoic and calm. "We have to fight."

There are tears in the girl's eyes as she shakes her head, black curls bouncing. "I don't _want_ to!"

A small whine arises from Arthur as he shies away as well. I realize that he's obviously not going to fight, not so sooner after he's lost Alister. It's just me and the boy from Six in this effort.

And I'm not intending on letting him go free.

He narrows his eyes, a small growl emitting from his throat as he lowers his head, curly hair bristling in the small breezes. "I'm not letting you take my life away from me," he says, surprisingly courageous. He turns his small head to his ally, as if seeking her confirmation and agreement, but I take no chances. I tackle him, catching him off-guard.

The boy plummets to the ground, the wind knocked out of him with a sickening thump. His eyes widen like saucers as he sees me, breathing hard and cheeks growing ruddy.

"Y-You aren't going to do this, are you?"

I catch his wrists and fling them above his head, holding them down with one hand. With the other, I fumble for the scythe. "I'm sorry, but I have to do what I have to do," I hiss, my hand connecting with the handle.

"Not much of a fight," he comments, simply watching in slight fear as the blade shows a silvery shimmer. "Are you sure that you don't want a proper one?"

"I'll be fine, thanks," I growl, searching and becoming slightly confused. Now to the point of actually striking a fatal vein. The neck seems too extreme, and the wrists would not promise death. The abdomen? But I'm sitting on it.

A small shriek makes me look up just in time to see the girl, dark hair ruffling behind her as she comes upon me, throwing herself onto my and nearly knocking the scythe out of my hands. I scream for Arthur as she pins me, the boy clambering on to join the fun.

"W-Willa, I can't…" Arthur's youthful voice sounds so lost and hurt.

I struggle like a caged bird to get up from the ground, but the girl is holding me tightly. "Get her, Francis!" Her tone of voice is strained, wispy.

The boy, Francis, fumbles with the blade which gives me enough time to surprise them with an ear-splintering howl. Terrified, they both clamber off of me as I spring up from the ground, my scythe in hand.

And then suddenly they're both on the ground, and the tip of my scythe is pointed to the boy. How that happened, I don't know. The rush of adrenaline is simply too great for me to handle, and my heart is practically hammering out of my chest. There's blood in my mouth, which makes me think that one of them landed a punch. Arthur's eyes are huge as he curls up in a ball somewhere, I just know it.

"I never wanted to do this," I choke, spitting out a gob of blood and feeling thoroughly disgusted with myself.

I'm weakened. I realize that as I descend on the boy, glaring. If the girl were to scream, push me over, anything, I'd be done for.

But the sudden sound of footsteps and strangled cries make me realize that she's running away from her ally.

And as the curved blade of the scythe enters his heart, triggering a youthful, mournful, painful scream and a cannon, I have a feeling that I know exactly where she's coming from.

**A/N: Miss Y by Marina and the Diamonds.**

_**12**__**th**__**- Coral Fisher. Fists to the throat.**_

_**11**__**th**__**- Francis Theroux. A scythe to the heart.**_

**Magik- Coral was my baby. Coral was everyone's baby. She was so innocent, frightened, and insecure that she grew and flourished to be a character that was quite interesting. When I first saw her form, I wanted her. I knew that she'd get in, and applause for that. She was amazing, really. Though nearly everybody will be upset with her death, it was simply her time to pass on. **

**Dino- Francis, with his hallucinogenic, psychedelic self moving onto the heavens, we all know that at least one of his visions came true, yes? The Mockingjay, of course, as the interview vision proved. As the story progressed, I felt like I wasn't capturing the essence of his character quite as much as the rest, though he was definitely an oddball. Amazing job on yet another tribute!**

**I'm not too pleased with this chapter, writing quality or length, really. But I was rushed, sorry about that, y'all. :O**

**So you have it, though! Your top ten! I'd like to say congratulations to Constance, Brucite, Slate, Arthur, Percy, Lux, Jinx, Willa, Nessa, and Surtr. Well? Is it all that you thought it would be, tributes? I'm sure that they're all bobbing their heads in agreement or shaking it furiously. But look on the bright side, your victor is in one of these tributes, so congratulations to each submitter for making a complex enough tribute to have a final ten-er!**

**Ah. And yes, my new impending story is upon us. Once this story reaches around twenty-seven chapters, it shall be posted, so be on the lookout to submit a tribute. ;)**

**Until next time!**

**Question timeeeeee!**

**1. Thoughts on each POV? Favorite and least favorite and why?**

**2. Three favorite quotes from each of these four tributes?**

**3. Predictions for the next chapter?**

**4. Are you satisfied with this Top Ten? Any surprises, in your opinion, both for who's in it and who's not?**

**5. General thoughts and how was my writing? :)**


	26. Demons

_**.**_

_**When you feel my heat, look into my eyes. It's where my demons hide.**_

**Nessa Aoki, District Eleven**

_He's gone. _

_He's gone. _

_He's gone. _

_He's gone._

_He's gone._

I can't stop shakily repeating these words to myself as I rock back and forth, my frozen hands clasped around something. My voice is trembling each time I utter those same two words, and my mind is clouded.

"H-He's gone, he's gone, he's gone," I whisper harshly, whimpering.

I can't deal with this.

I could have saved him. We could have defeated Willa together, but I left him for dead.

Francis's memory is a bitter one, one that leaves a nasty aftertaste. The whole image of him, a sweet, artistic, poetic guy who liked me more than most, haunts me.

I don't belong here. I don't. I have to… I have to leave.

As I scramble up, I realize that I'm in the barn where Francis and I hid out for most of the time here. I glance over to the left, panic alarms blaring in my head, and I see the blood stains from Alexis, and the loft which I pushed her from.

_NO, NO, NO._

The three words are echoed around the barn and, hazily, I stagger out. Did I scream them? Was that me? Why am I not conscious of- of anything?

I stumble outside, down the gravelly road, and nearly pitch myself down a steep hill that leads to the Cornucopia. I roll down on my sides, tumbling head over heels and vice versa, rocks and stones and the sort jabbing into me, but I'm numb to everything, and I fall like a cascading waterfall, but less gracefully, and… and then I stop.

I lift my head, rocks seemingly glued to my chin and neck, to meet the eyes of Slate Bessarion, Percy Brizo, and Brucite Gergeon. They're arguing, but it all stops short. Slate starts to say something, and Percy gives a shout. Brucite just stares at me with these hollow eyes. Deadened eyes.

I shriek, that much is clear.

After that it's all slowed down. A glimmer of silver is evident in the air. A battle cry pierces the numbing silence, I think it's Slate's voice. I see Percy's grim jawline, firmly set as he notches an arrow.

But I'm not going down that easily.

I roll out of the way, almost in slow motion, as the blade comes out of the sky, whistling down as it slices to my side. A gasp escapes from my parted lips as an arrow flies just above my head, pinning a ponytail to the ground. I tug it free, tears staining my eyes as I thank the Lord for Percy Brizo's bad aim.

Then it all catches up; it's not in slow-motion, and it's not fast, either. I can hear. I am not numb. There's white hot pain blazing through my veins, though if it is adrenaline or tainted blood I'm not sure.

Doggedly, trying to dodge Slate's scythe attacks, I roll to the side and jut my foot upwards. Slate howls, keeling over and holding himself as Brucite, watching from the sidelines, offers a grin.

The telltale sound of an arrow in Percy's bow makes me look up, wide and alert, in time to see the metal arrowhead flying towards me. I throw myself to the ground, thus knocking the wind out of myself and collecting dust and dirt inside my mouth.

I splutter, my tongue lolled out as I try to wipe the nasty tasting crud off of my dry tongue, but there comes another arrow. This time it makes contact, slicing into my forearm and allowing me to let out another howl.

Percy offers a grim smile as he fumbles in his quiver for another arrow- but mercy, salvation. He doesn't have any more.

Screaming a swear word to nobody in particular, he casts his bow and quiver aside and seizes Slate's scythe. The said boy looks up in mild surprise, reaching for his weapon and tussling with Percy for it. Slate regains it within seconds, his muscles more defined than the boy from Four's, and he surges towards me.

I shriek, a wild horse running right through my head as my heart pounds. I stumble backwards.

"D-D-Don't do this!" I croak, suddenly falling straight on my back as I trip over a fanny pack, one of many that litter the ground around the Cornucopia. Panic races through my head.

_I need to get back to Joshua, to my sister and my mother!_

_They need me!_

_I need them!_

_I regret what I said earlier, about me being deadweight!_

_I want to live!_

Slate has no regrets. I'm sure of that as he marches towards my fallen figure with a conflicted expression on his face, and I'm even surer of it as he slashes the weapon forward, hooking into my torso and spilling burgundy-black blood all over my front.

He stands above me, hovering, as I gasp and try to contain my innards. It's a sickening feeling, holding your stomach in your hand, you know. Trembling all over and realizing one ugly truth, I watch as he strides away.

Leaving me for dead.

And my eyelids slip shut.

I'm really alone, aren't I?

**Slate Bessarion, District Two**

My mouth is a grim line as I return to Percy and Brucite, my eyes deadened. Behind me, the girl from Eleven gasps, panting as she tries to shove her guts back inside herself. In a quick attempt to not see this, I pull the collar of my jumpsuit upwards, pulling it over my eyes, nose, and mouth. It reeks of sweat.

I have to turn away, but seconds later, when her cannon erupts, I still am staring at the inside of my jumpsuit, turned to the Cornucopia. Another one bites the dust, literally. What sour irony.

Brucite moves to the side, shoulders sagging. "I want this all to be over," he mutters.

Nodding in agreement, I want to say something but I don't.

It's been on my mind a lot since last night, when Coral somehow disappeared and Constance apparently fled. I saw and heard nothing. It was the best sleep I've had in a while, and yet, our alliance splintered. It's just us guys now, the strong that survived.

First it was Serafina, with her sphinxlike ways and blank expression.

Then it was Coral, her tinkling laugh and sparkling eyes, gone for good.

And lastly it was Constance, her smirk and twisted obsessions evident.

_And who remains, then? _I think to myself, eyes swiveling around our little group.

Percy, with his narrowed, hardened eyes and focused expression.

Brucite, with his deadened appearance and gaunt, hollow void.

And me, the… the… the so-called 'leader'.

Was I ever the leader, though? Did I ever lead our alliance to victory and glory? No. I led them to their disappearances. I let Serafina die. I let Coral and Constance get away.

Kicking an orange backpack on the ground and gritting my teeth, I try to allow myself to simmer without exploding, but it's very difficult.

"Hey, Slate," Brucite calls. I look over at him with a mixture of anger and sadness boiling in my blood. "Are you doing okay?"

"No." I scowl. "I want all this to be over already, okay? I can't deal with this anymore…"

And I repeat this, over and over, as I unknowingly advance towards Brucite. His eyes widen in fear, in realization. His gaze turns to my scythe. "Th-Think about what you're doing, Slate!" Brucite whimpers, completely giving up any sort of defense he might have tried.

But he does stop me. I stop dead in my tracks, wavering, and instead slump to the ground. "I'm sorry," I mutter. And in reality, I am. I don't want to be like this anymore, constantly running for my life and trying to snatch others' up. I'm sick of this arena; I want to be back in District Two with Claudia and Caesar, the twins.

Percy jogs over, relatively unconcerned. "Is everything alright between you all? I heard shouting."

Shouting? Maybe we were talking louder than I'd thought.

I shake my head. "Nah, we're all good." I stare directly at Brucite, daring him to say something. He merely looks up at Percy with watery eyes, shaking his own head.

"All good," he repeats in a wavering voice.

Percy nods once, about to go back to his clementine orange when a slight snapping of a twig makes his head jerk up in sudden shock. His eyes widen as they gaze off towards the direction of the gravel driveway leading up to the barn.

"Who is it?" I hiss.

He gasps softly, fumbling on the ground for his bow and arrow. "D-dude, it's the girl from Six, the crazy one with black hair! Jinx or whatever!"

"Is she alone?" My heart thuds. My knuckles clench around my scythe.

"Looks like it, yeah! She must've abandoned her allies, or they've left her!"

This is almost too good to be true. Though the notion of killing now makes me feel funny, Jinx is our biggest competition besides Constance, for sure. Getting her off our list would be legendary. Three against one? We just might make it.

"Is she backing away? Does she see us?"

Percy cranes his neck.

"Dude, she sees us and she's running for us! Shoot, get ready!"

Brucite springs to his feet once Percy says that, automatically obeying him, and grabs a thin knife from the ground. His eyes are glassy as they stare at Jinx, her figure getting bigger and bigger as she charges at us.

Percy is first to advance, running forward in long strides with his bow bared in front of him. Notching an arrow, the silver tip stained with cracking blood, he narrows his eyes. I follow suit, going the opposite direction so that Brucite is in the middle. We'll surround her.

Jinx really is crazy. She doesn't slow down as she runs towards us.

The fatal sound of a bowstring and an arrow being released comes to my ears, and I nearly snap my own neck as I try to see whether it will hit her. It misses by a few feet as she gets a burst of adrenaline, dashing forward even more briskly.

I duck, charging her with my scythe pointed out. Brucite looks blank; obviously, he'll be no help. Percy's got only three arrows left to use, but I'm nearly positive that they'll do the trick if I can't.

The first of the three goes just above her head, through some of Jinx's black curls. By now, she's only thirty feet away from us and visibly growling, her curved hunting knife glimmering in the faint light of the sun, a couple buttery yellow beams streaming through the dark cloud cover.

She surges towards me first, avoiding Percy's second arrow, which flies directly between us, nicking my arm. Scowling at Percy while trying to maintain the upper hand while her knife comes toward me, I duck out of the way.

Jinx snarls, an animalistic sound that seems almost appropriate for her feral appearance. She swings her arm again and it connects with the handle of my scythe, narrowly missing my fingers. As she tugs it out, I watch in horror as the bottom end of my scythe is dislodged, nearly chopped off.

This means war.

But alas- my ears perk up when I hear the last arrow whizzing through the air, and I throw myself to the ground for good measure.

_It misses._

It goes directly between Jinx's outstretched arm and her body, embedding itself in a tree a good twenty feet away. Percy gives a loud, frustrated holler, but alarm bells are ringing in my head.

I'm the only contender left with a weapon and will to fight.

Gasping as the knife comes dangerously close to my torso, my slight fear turns into anger.

_Don't let them take over._

_Do your family and district proud._

_Do this one thing, Slate._

_You _can_ become a victor._

Four phrases run through my mind, fueling my determination.

I see a spot of weakness; Jinx is relatively bad at defense, opting to duck out of the way instead of countering the attacks with her weapon.

Percy runs throughout the place, plucking scattered arrows off the ground.

Brucite stares at us blankly, his eyes glassy and body swaying.

There's an open cut on Jinx's cheek, and she's smiling through it, blood staining her teeth and eyes narrowed.

And what do I look like?

A fighter.

I slash out at Jinx's torso, but as she ducks away, I slam the scythe down on her back, withdrawing a guttural banshee-like howl from her throat.

Brucite stops and stares in awe as Jinx goes down, moaning and clawing blindly, her eyes rolling about like a beast. Her hunting knife is still gripped in her hand when she spits out a final curse for me to rot.

And then…

Nothing.

_Oblivion_.

Her cannon shoots, and I fall to my knees.

**Arthur Augustus, District Eight**

I don't know what's up with her.

I squint at Willa, her blue eyes bright as ever, blond ponytail just as jouncy and happy looking, tan skin shimmery with sweat. She looks completely normal, if a bit overheated.

Then why do I get the feeling that something's not right?

"Hey, Arthur, can you get me the water bottle?" she asks, reaching her hand out.

"Of course." I hand it to her with a smile, but she doesn't return it with as much vividness as she used to. Is that it? Is she not as animated as she once was?

"Willa," I say.

"Mhm?"

"Be happy."

"_What_?"

I frown slightly, prodding her forearm with a finger. "You have to be happy."

Willa forces a smile- I can see her straining to keep it. "But I am happy?"

"No, not a forced happy. A real happy." I look at the dark sky that recently gave off a cannon, searching for the right thing to say. "Alister wasn't happy when he died. Well, he was, but before his death he was not happy at all. He was nasty, and mean, and he didn't treat me like a brother."

"So I should treat you like a brother, then?"

"This is hard to explain," I sigh, slumping down with my face in my hands. I want her to understand that she has to be happy, or she'll meet her end like Alister did.

Before the arena, Alister was so cheery, always happy to see me, casual, and jokey. When he came into the arena, that all disappeared and he turned evil. But something changed him, be it the dogs or the fact that he was about to die. He was actually happy, joyful, accepting of death.

It doesn't make sense.

I guess that I think that if Willa goes on a downward spiral like Alister did, she'll look forward to death as well, and eventually not even care, just like Alister. I want her to live, though, I want her to win.

I want to win.

I want all of us to win.

"This is confusing," I say, echoing my earlier comment. "Does it make any sense that I think if you're sad right now, you'll look forward to dying?"

Willa nods slowly, eyebrows furrowed together. "It makes a bit of sense. I mean, I get where you're coming from and all."

"Awesome." I smile lightly. "So will you be happy? I'm going to be happy for the both of us if you aren't, just so we can enjoy our time together."

She giggles a little.

"Arthur?"

"Are you happy? If you're happy, I'll answer your question."

"I'm all kinds of happy." She smiles softly. "Know that, Arthur. But it's just temporary, you must also know that."

I frown. "Why is it only temporary?"

Willa sighs, burying her face in her hands. "Arthur, this is the arena. Nothing is permanent here except the damage that is dealt, and the brokenness that the one survivor faces. I've known, I've seen Woof."

"Your mentor?" I ask, and she hums her assent.

"Arthur, we're not safe here, and we won't be safe if somehow one of us will make it out of here." Willa's face is hardened, her features looking as if they were carved out of pale white marble. But then they soften- her eyes, at least. They flicker over to me. "You've got to believe me."

"I do, Willa." I reach for her hand, which is as cold as ice. "I just want you to be happy…"

And her blank features soften once more, breaking into a smile. "…Thanks, Arthur. I really needed that."

But as she turns away, probably to grab something to nibble on, it strikes me.

The arena broke Alister. But Willa, she's _already_ broken. She's _been_ broken.

I've just been the one to see her in her most vulnerable time.

I guess, in a way, I'm maturing and growing up, too.

Closing my eyes, tilting my head back to the soft winds that blow the leaves and straw about, I face the sky and write a silent message in my head.

_I hope you see me, Mom and Dad._

_I hope you are proud of the son you've cultured. _

_Of what I've become._

**Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve**

I face Lux, scowling playfully as she fiddles with the remaining six arrows she has. Of the six, two are tainted with blood, either hers or an animal's.

"We're at the final eight," she says, staring down at the arrows.

"We made it so far." I grin widely, trying to contain the happiness that's bubbling up inside of me. "Lux, one of us could go home! Don't you understand?"

She merely shrugs, a bit pessimistic still since Alexis's death. "Eh, I guess. I mean, it's good and all, but…"

"But what?"

Lux faces me, eyes conflicted and slightly misted over with tears. "I just don't know if I'm ready to kill again, you know? Bark was a one time thing, he was threatening our alliance. But the guilt nearly consumed me, Surtr."

"You're lying."

It strikes me that those two words probably weren't the best things to say, noting at how Lux's face crumples up and her lips quiver like she's going to cry. She's a ticking bomb, ready to explode into tears at the next second.

"No, no, sorry, bad words." I gaze at my knuckles, at the cracked blood that's dried on them. I pick at it, peeling off a small bit of a hangnail. "You're kidding, though, right? I mean, you never really talked about it."

She holds up her hands in mock defense. "I guess you're right, I didn't think too much of it because it was instinct. Maternal instinct…"

"You're a mom?"

I must look stricken and shocked, because Lux jumps a little, shaking her head furiously. "Oh, no, no, no. I mean, I lived with two boys, one of them younger than me and the other being reckless and wild. You kind of learn responsibility through all that."

I shrug. "I never had much responsibility to take care of. My mom always got it, and when she didn't, my friends took care of me." I smile slightly at the memories of them. "Anyways, though, there was always some sort of food on the table and smiles to go around."

"Speaking of food…" Lux pats her flat stomach, which growls on impact. "We should go and hunt for something, I'm starved."

I grin, hopping to my feet and fingering my small pocketknife. "I'm in! Shall we go to that one pasture, where we saw the animals?"

"Sure. I think they were cows, anyways." Lux stands up a bit reluctantly, slinging her bow over a shoulder. With a small trail of dried blood streaking across her temple to her cheek and wrinkles lining her forehead, she looks older than she actually is. It makes me sad.

We walk in near unison to the pasture, where I promptly slip under the barbed wire fence and into the field. Lux was right; a couple herds of cattle mill lazily about, the closest being a hundred yards away. Plenty of ample room to scout out the weakest.

"I think we should get a calf," says Lux quietly, shielding her eyes with her hat from my view. "They'd be the easiest to capture, despite how sick that sounds."

"There's a few," I reply, ignoring her last comment and pointing at four small calves, surrounding three mothers. "One of them is the black sheep of the group, for sure."

"Nice pun," murmurs Lux, gazing in the direction. "Which one do you think it is?"

I scrutinize the group of cows, finding that a big-boned one is slightly isolated, trying to nudge a mother cow but getting shoved backwards. "I think it's the one with the white splotch on its muzzle."

My ally nods, already notching an arrow. But I stop her. "We have to distract the others first."

"Fine." She sets the arrow impatiently back in her quiver. "I'll spook the rest into going into that little thistle forest, and you can lure the calf towards you with some alfalfa." She plucks a hearty sprig of the said cow chow off the ground. "Come on, let's go."

Lux starts darting towards the group without a second glance, and I follow suit, ducking past water spigots that jut out of the ground, prominent rocks, and tall thistles, until I'm near the calf, at a distance where it can see me clearly but won't be scared.

Its glassy black eyes stare at me as it stands stock still, legs locked into a stiff position. It doesn't seem nearly tempted by the alfalfa, no matter how hard I shake it and try to make it appealing.

Giving up after about twenty seconds, I sigh and look up to see Lux, almost carelessly striding behind the cattle group to shoo them into the thistle forest.

She doesn't see how one of the calves turns, its eyes flashing dangerously.

"Lux! Lux!" I shriek, spooking the dumb calf that didn't want any alfalfa and causing it to run for the hills. "L-Look out, there's a calf that's gonna charge!"

Lux stares at me like I'm an idiot. "Please, Surtr, it's a calf, I doubt that it'll run at me-"

Her words are snared in her mouth as she turns to face the cow, eyes widening and a shriek being let loose before she starts running.

It is like I'm awakening from a long slumber, rudely slapped and thrown out of a warm cocoon. Every part of my body is stiff or covered with goosebumps. I'm trembling, a safe distance away as the calf charges Lux, ducking his head as though to butt her even though he has no horns.

"Surtr!" Lux screams, voice stricken with horror, her quiver of arrows falling off her shoulder as she runs for her life. "H-Help me!"

I'm not fast enough; my legs are too short, or I run too slowly. The calf ducks its head and scoops Lux onto its shoulders, snorting and rolling its eyes murderously as it goes about.

"No!"

The word escapes my mouth before I can do anything. I can't help but powerlessly look on as Lux tumbles from the calf's back, her wrist getting trampled as it circles around her.

Quivering with fear, I whip my head around to find something, anything, a large rock or maybe even a weapon to-

A weapon, I've got my pocketknife!

It will take the perfect shot, and my hands are sweaty, and I'm not nearly good at this weapon, but it's all I've got.

As Lux wails, the calf tromping on her abdomen, as well, the knife flies out of my hand, whistles through the air cleanly…

And enters the chest of the calf neatly.

**A/N: Demons by Imagine Dragons.**

_**10th- Nessa Aoki, District Eleven. A scythe to the abdomen.**_

_**9th- Jinx Tesatsu, District Six. A scythe to the back.**_

**Alohomora- Nessa was a cutie, for sure. Her quiet, meek, daintiness brought a certain flair to this story, and who could miss her sweet little relationships with Bark and Francis? She was totally adorable. I really did enjoy writing about her character and everything she brought to the table, but realistically, she wouldn't have made it much further. **

**Inky- Jinx… What to say about Jinx? She was perfect to write about, a sadist whose heart softened over time. To be honest, I'd gone through different scenarios in my head for a plot, one even ending up with her as victor, but it struck me that again, realistically, she'd be overpowered by a group. She overlooked one fatal flaw, and that was her end.**

**Well…? What to say?! IT'S THE TOP EIGHT! Congratulations to Brucite, Constance, Slate, Arthur, Percy, Lux, Willa, and Surtr! **

**Here's what I'm thinking for the story's remainder, since yes, I have all the plotlines, rankings, and eventual victor all worked out. **

**Three/four more arena chapters. One victory chapter, one epilogue chapter.**

**And… and that's it. Kind of melancholy, isn't it? But it also means a lot more action, as well. There will be drama, spice, and everything a good ending should have. So grab the popcorn, sit back, wait, and eventually enjoy!**

**QUESTIONS ;)**

**1. Thoughts on each POV? Favorite and least favorite and why?**

**2. Favorite two lines from each POV?**

**3. Predictions for the upcoming chapter(s)?**

**4. Any real shockers for this chapter or the top 8?**

**5. General thoughts? How was my writing?**


	27. Mr Brightside

_**.**_

_**But it's just the price I pay, destiny is calling me. Open up my eager eyes, cause I'm Mr. Brightside.**_

**Percy Brizo, District Four**

"I'm so sick of this," moans Slate.

I glare at him from the side of my vision, inwardly telling him to keep his mouth shut. All he's done lately is complain and be regretful about killing. Jinx and Nessa, to name the most recent people.

"You need to hush up," I tell him sternly. "We're at the final eight. This is the breaking point, man. For all the chips in the table. You've gotta focus on this."

Slate twists his mouth unattractively. "I know, I'm just so bored," he whines.

"Well, you better pipe down," I say, cranky. "I'm sick of you."

"_Tributes."_

The voice shakes the ground and I jump up, Brucite and Slate along with me. "What was that?" I holler, clutching my bow.

"I don't know!" shouts Slate.

"_There will be a feast at the end of the gravel drive in exactly thirty minutes._" There's a pause. _"Significant items will be awarded to those daring enough to venture out."_

The first thing that's said comes from Brucite. "We don't need anything. We don't need to fight."

"But it's the cowardly thing to do, to back away," I reply. "We might as well go there, try and pick off most of the remaining tributes, right?"

"Fine." Brucite locks his spine and looks gloomily out into the dreary day, rain pattering gently across the gravel drive. "We fight. But I don't want to promise you guys anything."

"It's not like you've done anything for us, anyways," says Slate conversationally, casually wiping the red-tainted edge of his scythe on his jumpsuit top. "Just sit, and observe the fight like a bump on a log…"

Then all of a sudden, Brucite's on his feet and he's glaring at us and he's holding his weapon dangerously close to Slate's shoulder. "What did you say?" he hisses.

Slate shrugs, not once making eye contact. "To be perfectly honest, you haven't been fighting since the bloodbath. You've been one to sit back and watch, not even going in for backup."

"I don't-" I begin.

"You're one to talk," scoffs Brucite. "Saying that you're a leader and all but failing this alliance? You're doing terrible at being the so-called leader, if you can barely be called that."

"Well, at least I work towards my goal!" Slate argues back, rising to his feet.

I grip my bow, ready to shoot in case anybody makes the first move.

It will be hard, though.

These are my friends, the people I've lasted so long with.

And yet, I feel like this is our final disbanding.

"_OW!"_

I freeze, looking up to see Brucite surge towards Slate and bring the curved knife upwards, slicing open Slate's jaw and creating a quick river of bright crimson blood.

"Brucite!" I shriek.

Slate's stumbling around, his scythe forgotten so that he can go and nurse his wound, and with Brucite quickly advancing upon his hunched-over form, there's one thing I can do.

I can make it quick, though.

I fumble for an arrow in my quiver… but to _no_ avail. There's nothing there!

My eyes fly to the abandoned Cornucopia, where there are no arrows, either. But there are shards of wood and metal and feathers all in a heap, pushed neatly off to the side.

I narrow my eyes, feeling anger slowly overcome me. Brucite was planning to manipulate and kill us after all, he just needed an opportune moment!

Shaking off my quiver, I charge towards the prowling Brucite and with a grunt, jump onto his back and grab his neck to hang on. He flails around blindly, trying to land a hit with his knife but trying not to cut himself, and it's not working.

And then he drops the knife and openly acknowledges his mistake with a loud gasp. His teeth sink into my hand and I scream.

"S-Slate!" I choke out, swallowing my pride. "Kill him!"

Slate clutches his jaw, tears leaking out of his dark eyes. "How?" he croaks out.

Obviously I'm on my own here, since Slate isn't in any shape or form to fight. Kicking Brucite in the thigh so he stumbles to the ground, I swiftly jump off as he topples and I swipe his knife from the ground, victorious at last.

"Ha, ha!" I gloat, fingering the knife and focusing on the dried blood in the grooves of it.

But my mistake? I overlooked the fact that Brucite's not injured at all, just shaken.

With a frustrated growl, he grabs my ankle and sends me cascading clumsily to the ground. His fist juts forward and collides with my nose, and I cry out, losing the advantage as he swiftly grabs the knife from me, staggering to his feet.

I'm not giving up.

I kick out, bringing him to the ground once more, but the knife is flung elsewhere, somewhere in the long grass. It looks like it's hand-to-hand combat from now on.

"Get ready, Percy," hisses Brucite, punching my jaw and staining his fist with my blood. He pulls away, scrambling to get up, but I'm enduring, I won't let him go. I cling to his kneecap and effectively send him crashing down once more, but this time he doesn't have his arms to cushion him and he falls on his face. I hear a _crack_ from his nose, and he groans.

I tackle him, ignoring the raging pain in my own face and focusing on the prize. Gripping his shoulders, digging my nails into his skin, I slam him into the ground once more, his head bobbling forward like a toy.

"S-Stop," Brucite gasps.

"No!" I grunt, sending a fist to his jaw. Another _crack_ follows the first.

"_Percy_!" shrieks Brucite, wiggling in a vain attempt to get off the ground.

I am relentless. I slam his head into the ground once more, and then twice more, and then more and more, until even my arm is sore and I'm sure that Brucite's vision is spinning into oblivion since he's long since stopped screaming and begging.

Bluntly I move away from my straddling position to take a peek at him. I carefully take his chin in my hands and force him to face me.

It's not a pretty sight. His face is red and puffing out, eyes screwed shut as if to block out all the pain. Tears run down his face, through crimson cuts and scrapes from the gravel. And oh, the gravel, rocks imbedded in his face and spilling out of his cracked lips.

His eyes cautiously open and they stare at me, lifelessly and listlessly. "P-Percy," he croaks, spitting out a mouthful of yellowish gravel. "Weren't we f-friends?"

And the remorse comes in waves, consuming my body and wracking it. I look up at Slate, still hovered over the ground and retching.

I think of everything that Brucite has ever done for the team. For Slate and me. For me, alone.

I slowly get up. I walk over to the knife. I sit next to Brucite.

I gently drag it across his throat. His cannon erupts, echoing across the land.

He deserves to rest in peace.

**Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

"Arthur, are you ready?"

He smiles down at me from his perch on the highest rung of the ladder of the tree house. "I'll be fine," he says happily. "If you get hurt in the feast, I'll be here to patch you right up, and that's great, isn't it?"

"It is," I reply, offering a small smile.

We've agreed that since we're both looking emaciated and are growing hungrier by the moment, I'm going to scrounge around the ruins of the feast to look for some food- maybe a couple bagels, or a watermelon, or even a few stray biscuits. Nothing would go amiss, since obviously we're not getting any sponsors.

"Bye, Arthur." I take a moment to hug the little guy, his grin growing wider and wider as he clambers down the ladder and embraces me back.

And as I'm walking away, I look back, and see him carelessly swinging from the tire swing that hangs on the creepy old tree.

I can't help but chuckle, since even through the arena, he's never lost his childish nature. He has stayed true to himself, which is more than what I can say for myself.

It's easy to locate the end of the gravel driveway. I can already see one tribute gathering; by the looks of it, it's the worn-down blond girl from One, Constance von Trapp. Her eyes are weary as she sits, slumped against a tree in silent waiting.

My hand flies to the scythe in the belt pocket of my jumpsuit.

But it only rests on the handle. Am I ready to fight again, to kill? Constance looks weakened and worn-down, and from what I can tell, all she's equipped with is a simple small black backpack, a plastic container at her side. There's crumbs at the bottom, along with a shriveled-up, sorry looking piece of dried meat.

It's do or die, flee or fight.

And I'm not a fighter for nothing.

I slink upon Constance, just behind her, and try to detect if she can hear or see me. But to my surprise, her eyes are fluttered shut, and she looks almost… peaceful.

It would be so easy to just bring the scythe down on her head, and kill her now.

But humanity gets to me and I sit down by a neighboring tree about twenty yards away, watching through a bush. At the same time, I'm internally kicking myself, because firstly, if I did it now, it would be getting rid of a huge threat, one who most likely has sponsors and the entire District One on her side. But at the same time, wouldn't that just bring more hatred to me?

And where, oh where, are her allies?

A rustling noise behind me makes me leap to my feet and stare out ferociously into the blackened forest that lies beyond me.

But it's a thin whimper that makes my eyes widen and quickly glance off to the side. There sits the girl from Five, Lux Sephina, looking very small as she rocks back and forth on her bottom, clutching her leg. From what I can tell, it is bleeding out through the fabric of her jumpsuit, making the flannel cling to rotten-smelling flesh. Something must have happened.

"Are you okay?" I whisper, inching closer just in case she tries something. But she seems unarmed.

"No," Lux says, her voice laced with fear. "My leg… it's in a bad place."

I don't reply for a moment, merely turn my head to try and look to see if there are any others to witness that. "Do you have any allies to help you?"

Lux's shoulders sink and she shrugs, letting loose a sigh. "I really have no clue," she says sadly, in a pitiful little voice. "Surtr is gone. He took my bow and arrows and left."

"Lux!" Out from a bush pops out the small, dark-haired kid from Twelve, his eyes twinkling merrily, though their sparkle has been dimmed. "I never abandoned you. I told you just to wait here."

"Sorry." Lux sighs, seemingly unafraid of me and the scythe I'm clutching. She's choosing to act calm, cool, but on the inside she's simmering, I know it. "I kind of zoned out while you were talking."

Surtr sighs. "It's cool," he says nonchalantly. He turns to me. "Willa, right? From Eight?"

"Yes," I say, eyeing up the bow that's casually slung over his shoulder and the quiver on the other, packed with seven – no, eight – arrows, the tips glimmering.

"Look, we don't want to have to do anything until the feast is over," Surtr begins, lacing his fingers together and bowing his head. "I think it would be best if maybe you joined forces with us to try and take down one or two, or even all of the Careers?"

"The outlier districts should band together," Lux pipes up. Her eyes beseech me. "It's like an unspoken rule."

I shrug. "I think that's fine, as long as you don't break the truce and shoot me in the back."

Giggling slightly and shaking his head, Surtr pats the bow. "This is Lux's weapon, really," he replies. "I'm better with my knife, but seeing as how Lux can't really move, I think I'm gonna have to be the bigger man here. Figuratively." He gestures to himself, to his small stature.

"Alright," I say. "Well, if you want to prove how manly you are, there's the Career girl from One lying by that tree over there." I turn and point a finger to the blond head, which is still motionless.

"Go for it, Surtr," urges the Five girl on the ground.

Surtr puffs out his chest, gently takes off his hat, and begins striding towards the girl when he stops, whirling around on his heel and stares at me. "Could you maybe give me some backup?"

"Sure," I find myself saying.

And Surtr pounces.

The girl's probably fallen asleep, because she's scared out of her wits, but Surtr's quick, and he lunges his knife towards her. It cuts through the fabric of her jumpsuit and probably scrapes the skin beneath, but Constance lets out a sort of roar and tackles him.

"G-Girl!" Lux screams, and I realize she's talking to me. "Please! Help him!"

I find myself running forward to help Annabell's district partner, whisking out my scythe and conking the girl over the head. Constance whirls to face me, and in that split second, Surtr drives in the knife from behind.

"_Oh_," Constance gasps, clutching her abdomen and collapsing to the ground.

Surtr looks shocked at what he just did, but there's no time to lose. Constance is still alive, blindly clutching at my legs as her other hand tries to grab the knife from her back. Once she realizes that there's no use, that it's really imbedded in there, she turns to Surtr with an almost regretful expression.

"You," she croaks out, a shaky hand pointing at him. "Underdogs never win."

And her cannon blasts.

**Lux Sephina, District Five**

The moment after Constance's haunting death cannon rips through the arena, there's something in the sky, gently cascading down along with the misty rainfall. I squint to see what it is, and am not surprised to see two figures leaping and trying to retrieve it.

The Careers, or what's left of them. I heard a cannon this morning, and if it's not the boy from Three, then it must be one of them that died. Only two are left, much less of threats than I thought.

"Surtr!" I call out, motioning for him to come closer to me. He obeys faithfully. "I think it's just you, me, the girl and her ally, and those two Careers. We're so close!"

"Yeah!" he says happily. "After we take on the Careers-"

"No," I cut him off, staring deeply into his dark eyes. "I think that you need to be the first to turn on the girl. As she said, this truce is only temporary. It's bound to die anyways, and besides, this is the only advantage we have!"

"But she has faith in us." Surtr's suddenly gloomier than I would have thought, his eyes welling with tears- or is that just rain?

"Yeah, I know. But only one can win." I gesture to my leg. "And I need medicine, remember?"

I don't mean to sound cocky or selfish, but at this point, it doesn't really matter. It's everybody for herself, and I intend on going home to my little brother and my friend. Maybe it's not good for me to play Surtr like this, and maybe, if I come home as victor, I'll regret it. But for now, this is me.

"Alright," he says finally, sounding dreary. "I-I'll go…"

"Only one can win." I smile, triumphant, before I'm distracted by something.

I gasp, looking beyond him and pointing my finger. The thing cascading down from the sky has arrived at the ground! It's a table, packed to the brim with backpacks and baskets and satchels, some of the goodies even dropping to the ground! Little tins, no doubt containing medicines, bags of meat, containers of food, silvery weapons shining in the faint light, helmets and armor pieces, everything!

Surtr doesn't waste time in grabbing the blond girl – our _temporary_ ally – and charging towards the table.

I watch from a distance as the boy from Four, Percy, is immediately tackled by the Eight girl and Surtr. The other boy is picking through the table, seemingly not hearing his ally's faint cries.

I squint, watching with a pounding heart as Eight raises the scythe above her head and brings it down on Percy, causing him to struggle even more, now calling loudly for his ally, who I now know as Slate Bessarion.

But Surtr brings out my bow, notches an arrow… and stops.

My heart stops.

The world stops.

Everybody stops, even the blond girl from District Eight.

We're all frozen, Percy's eyes glazed as Surtr fumbles with the bow, shaking his head and instead, casting the bow aside. I gasp, struggling to try and leap to my feet when I see him take an arrow instead and plunge it inside Percy's chest.

A cannon ripples across the arena, and now Slate sees them, charging towards and starting to slash out.

Surtr comes whizzing my way, eyes widened in fear, while Eight yells loudly and runs in another direction.

My eyes widen, too. I… I can't run! My leg's been crushed!

"Surtr, help me!" I scream, reaching out my hand for him to grab as he zooms past. But he merely stops, glances backwards towards Slate, and leans down to tell me something.

"Only one can win!" he shrieks, mocking my earlier words, before darting away, taking my bow and arrows with him.

Slate arrives, breathing heavily. He looks at Surtr's retreating form, and then at me, and his weary face splits into a smile. "Your ally just made things a lot easier for me. But I'm no monster. I'll make things quick…"

"Please, no," I whimper, squirming as Slate descends upon me, bringing the scythe down rapidly on my stomach.

He stares blankly at me as I shriek in agony, thrashing about and sobbing freely. There's nobody to save me. I won't have a future. I'll die alone.

My mind goes numb. My body is suddenly still, my vision swimming with tears.

Slate pats my shoulder as he leaves.

"I'm sorry, you guys," I sniffle, jaw trembling as I inhale my final breath. "I… I failed you."

_BOOM_

**Arthur Augustus, District Three**

I'm cornered against a wall.

Figuratively.

"Let it go, kid."

I shake my head, feeling weightless.

"Let it go, kid!"

The voice is insistent.

I grab the rope of my tire swing and I want to swing.

But this dark-haired man is not letting me.

"Let it go!"

He sounds insistent, not patient at all.

I like patient people.

Like Rhea. And my parents and my friends.

There's something silver in his hands.

It's not a fork, or a spoon, or a knife.

I squint.

It looks shiny.

Like a scythe.

Like Willa's scythe.

But Willa would never betray me, I know that much.

"Give it up, Three."

His voice is angry.

He sounds like the guy from Two.

The tan one.

The one with dark hair and a sage tone.

But this tone is filled with anger and contempt.

"I won't give it up!"

That was my voice.

All of a sudden my chest is burning, and there's red staining my vision. I look down and see my jumpsuit, blood spilling everywhere, and I look up and I see the mournful face of Slate Bessarion.

"You were a fighter till the end, little man." He smiles sadly. "Goodbye."

_BOOM_

**A/N: Mr. Brightside by the Killers.**

_**8th- Brucite Gergeon, District One. A knife to the throat.**_

_**7th- Constance von Trapp, District One. A knife to the back.**_

_**6th- Percy Brizo, District Four. An arrow to the chest.**_

_**5th- Lux Sephina, District Five. A scythe to the abdomen.**_

_**4th- Arthur Augustus, District Three. A scythe to the chest.**_

**Ryan, I doubt you're still reading, but if you are, just remember this. I loved Brucite so much. So, so, so, so, so much. Everything about him was my favorite, and I don't know, he was so hard to kill but I knew he couldn't keep clinging to the edges of sanity. But no, Brucite was my child. And I loved him. So… yeah. **

**Cloe, Constance was cool. Her love for Gloss was cute, much like a modern-day fangirl, and I knew that most people expected for her to go really far. But worst comes to worst, as you know, and unfortunately, her story had to end a little early. RIP to her.**

**HGFan, Percy was everything I wanted in a guy like him. He was so cool, words can't describe. Bouncing between his love-hate relationship with Coral and just chilling with the boys, everything about Percy was slick and chill. But I had no place for him in the final three. I really hope I did this cool guy justice.**

**David, I adored Lux so much. Legitimately everything about her was adorable, from her motherly nature to her simple submissive nature, later turned slightly manipulative. But yes, no, I loved Lux so much, and I really thought she should go out with a quiet death, not a bang. It's just what she deserved.**

**Christine Mulheim, words cannot begin to etch out the type of guy that Arthur was. From his pranking, thick-skinned self to the more vulnerable and thoughtful kiddo that he was, everything about him was soft. Realistically, he would have gone in the bloodbath without an ally. But he was too sweet to do that.**

**Wow, everybody. It's been a couple months. Been good?**

**Final three. **

**After the next chapter, Teen Idle will be published and there will be an epilogue chapter with the victor starring in it.**

**But for now… questions. :)**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Thoughts on each death?**

**3. Thoughts on the final three?**

**4. General thoughts?**

**5. Predicted rankings? (Who do you think will come third, second, and first?)**


	28. Never Gone

_**.**_

_**Lights off, **__**a shot in the dark**__**, we get lost when we're playing a part.  
><strong>__**We lay blame like we know what's best, it's a shame.  
><strong>__**But I'm still standing here, no, I didn't disappear,  
><strong>__**Now the lights are on, see I was never gone…**_

* * *

><p><strong>Willa Seamstress, District Eight<strong>

* * *

><p>It's the end.<p>

We're all together.

Well, admittedly, we all accidentally collided. I was striding back from the feast, back to the area where Arthur was told to wait. I found his body, stone cold and bleeding out.

Slate must have killed him. Surtr is too meek and young.

I grit my teeth and fold my arms over my chest.

Surtr's eyes are like black orbs of coal, glittering in the hot afternoon sun. His hair, longish and somewhat greasy, lies ruffled against his small head. His pale skin is obviously frying to a crisp in the sudden, and unwelcome, sunlight. His thin lips are contorted into a giant frown.

Slate's dark eyebrows are drawn together in concentration. His black hair, thick against his scalp and shimmering attractively in the sun, is tidy. His dark brown eyes are glistening, boring right into me. A scythe is gripped tightly, his knuckles white from grasping it so tightly.

This is the end.

* * *

><p><strong>Slate Bessarion, District Two<strong>

* * *

><p>Our time is dwindling down rapidly.<p>

Collectively, our breaths are ragged and quick.

We all have a weapon, no matter how impressive some are over the other. Surtr's little pocketknife rattles against his bony fingers as his hands tremble. Willa, with a scythe to match mine, is carefully caulked against her shoulder so she appears to be a miner. The drying blood caked on her face emphasizes the image.

Nobody makes the first move, and for that I am thankful. Surtr's in a position where his legs are slightly crossed, and Willa's swaying just a tad. I notice these things.

And I can barely process the shrieking thoughts that swirl through my head. Thoughts of Artemis, and little baby Deyanira. Of making my grandfather proud to have another victor in the family.

For one to survive, the other two must perish. My family taught me that.

I stare soundly at Surtr and Willa. They must both die.

This is the end.

* * *

><p><strong>Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve<strong>

* * *

><p>My hands are clammy and sweaty, balled into fists at my sides. The pocketknife rattles against my fingers.<p>

It's no match for Willa's scythe or Slate's scythe, or the amount of muscle that the latter has. But that doesn't mean that they've won. It's anybody's game, and I'm still in this.

Abandoning Lux was difficult, but her devious intentions were transparent once I cleared my mind. Letting Slate take care of her was easy, I just had to run and run until… well, until I came to the tree with the tire swing. From there, I watched from a high branch, evading the male from Three, as Slate stomped to the dumb tribute below me and sliced him open.

He's still there, his frozen corpse watching us on.

When Willa arrived, I had a half-thought just to stay into the tree and watch it all play out. But one look at a bird's nest with some ferocious-looking chicks made me think twice. I knew what had happened to Lux, and look where she is now. Probably getting prepped for a casket.

But us? We three? We are survivors.

Slate's haggard and worn down. There's bruiselike markings lining the undersides of his eyes, and his face is no longer clean-shaven. Grotesque nicks on his exposed skin are tainted with dried blood.

Willa's blond hair, once thrown into a pristine ponytail, has come around her face in waves, each tendril matted together with, once again, blood. She wears the expression of somebody who has seen too much.

And even though we're stock still now, have been for a minute or so, the sinking feeling in my stomach confirms it.

This is the end.

* * *

><p>The finale was relatively quick. The first tribute to lash out was Willa, unsurprisingly. She always was one to march right into battle, and the determined look on her face as she charged the weaker tribute, Surtr, was quickly dulled by a slice to her shoulder.<p>

Whirling around and howling in agony, she silenced Slate with a badly placed hack to his hip.

Groaning and staggering around, Slate watched with hollow eyes as Surtr, teeth chattering with nervousness, made a swipe to Willa with his little knife. Unlike the girl's first swing towards the boy, this one was positioned well, and it entered Willa's body cleanly.

The deed, however, was not done.

Slate, collecting himself enough to make another swipe at Willa, swung his scythe at her with so much force that her own weapon toppled out of her hands, and she was left, dazed, on the ground. Clutching her side and her shoulder with respective hands, she stared up at young Surtr with the fury of a saint in her eyes.

She would not beg for mercy. And the one thing that Surtr was good at was being merciful.

He stood back and watched as Slate slashed Willa's abdomen with his scythe, which was not knocked out of his hands. Willa was dead in moments, her lips parted in silent agony and her fingers laced together.

Surtr clutched the brim of his cowboy hat skittishly, trying to contain his trembling hands as he grasped the handle of his pocket knife with a sweaty hand.

It took one blow to the shin to make Surtr collapse. But he was not dead, rather peppered up with the knowledge that he could make it home, to his friends and family and wonderful, wonderful District Twelve.

The boy with dark eyes and a youthful mind wasn't thinking correctly. His mind was elsewhere. His eyes gazed off at the sun as he remembered all the good times he'd had with Lux, and how fortunate he would be if he could only take down one last tribute.

Slate Bessarion claimed the final slash to the torso that ended little Surtr Kayhiv's life, ripping through thin skin and muscle.

And no, he was _not_ proud of it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Never Gone by Colton Dixon.**

_**3rd- Willa Seamstress, District Three. A scythe to the abdomen. **_

_**The girl who never expected more than life could give.**_

_**2nd- Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve. A scythe to the torso.**_

_**The boy who always kept his chin up high and his hopes higher.**_

_**1st- Slate Bessarion, District Two. Eight kills.**_

_**The boy who knew he had it in him.**_

**Christine Mulheim – I can't thank you enough for Willa. Her spunky leadership skills were amazing. Her lust for life was truly great, and time and time again, I'd thought to make her victor. But, well, reality hits. And Willa, though confident and gallant, was just too human to really become victor.**

**Davvi – What can I even begin to say about Surtr?! From the start, I wanted him. He was so chipper and never had anything bad to say about him, yet he was realistic. He was fresh. He was a survivor, and I was totally drawn to that. His time here was one of my favorites to write about, and I can only hope I did him a little bit of justice. Nobody expected him to get so far, but I had all my faith in him. He was amazing.**

**Tyler – Congratulations, man. ;) You always had your faith and hope lie in Slate, and now, well, here he is. I hope you're happy with your very first victor…!**

**There will be one last chapter to follow, containing a brief epilogue and obituaries, but if you want to see more of Slate even after that, you can see him as the newest mentor for District Two, to star in Teen Idle and any SYOT's I have after that. :-)**

**Oh, and I thought I'd open Teen Idle submissions a little early. Just as a present for you guys.**

**Questions :D!**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Thoughts on the placements and your victor?**

**3. Who did you think would be victor, throughout the course of the story? (There can be more than one tribute who you thought would be victor!)**

**4. Are you happy with the victor?**

**5. General thoughts?**


	29. Little Red Wagon

_**.**_

_**Now, it ain't my fault when I walk, the jaws drop.**_

**24th – Alessandra Balis, District Three**

Alessandra's mother was a wreck. Her prized daughter, a bloodbath. Once they'd relocated to Three, she'd thought for certain that even if Alessandra was Reaped, she'd at least have the insurance of training on her back. Nothing helped her in the Games – not her spoiled attitude, her naïve ways of going about, nor her arrogance.

**23rd – Serafina Aegis, District Two**

Serafina, the best of the academy. Dead. Twenty-third place. This was almost unheard of in Two, and unsurprisingly, her parents were disgusted. Reluctant to collect Serafina's coffin, they cremated their daughter anyways, and her brother scattered her ashes over the yard where the ghost of a young girl had often pranced.

**22nd- Cohush Nigrum, District Nine**

Without Cohush's tolerance and vigilant constancy, many of the patients at the makeshift hospital suffered. There was no more of his watchful eye, no more happiness spread throughout. Some died. Others withered away, fretting over themselves with no patient Cohush to guide them. He was truly missed by many.

**21st – Ben McMhon, District Seven**

Ben had always been the annoying insect that swarms your head in the summer, there for a reason but not doing his job. His siblings wept as they watched his death, but after his small casket was buried in the ground and everybody got back into their busy routine at home... Ben was to be forgotten; never spoken of again. That was that.

**20th – Savanna Poppet, District Ten**

Savanna's entire family, mayor and little sisters and all, were saddened by her demise, but there had been an air of finality. It had been sealed ever since the goodbyes, when Savanna had acted so suicidal and dull. Mrs. Poppet had warned her children not to get too attached to the new Savanna on the screen – and they didn't.

**19th – Camo Russo, District Eight**

Camo wouldn't bow. He would never. And that was the one thing that his mother appreciated about him. He may have been concealing his identity, the real Atticus Russo, to protect his brother's honor, but to her, Camo was always himself. She cremated his bloodied body to put in a small jug, and she never left his side until her own end.

**18th – Bark Umbral, District Eleven**

A stumbling ghost to haunt the arena, indeed. His coffin weighed heavily on his family's consciences as a reminder of a sour childhood. His pals and buddies at home were stricken as they watched Bark lie on the ground, slowly losing air. Who would be there to back up their aliases whenever they got caught for stealing food, now?

**17th – Leaf Ender, District Seven**

Although Leaf was a sweet, humble young girl, it was written in the stars, her death. Nobody really expected her to make it past the twentieth mark, so when she did, citizens of Seven were pleasantly surprised. Her family mourned for a docile child who they had lost; it was the village she grew up in that sobbed for her being.

**16th – Annabell Berry, District Twelve**

Nothing to say. She never really did have anything to say, did she? Her silenced voice was docile, her moods gentle, and yet, nobody wept for her passing. Her body was refused by her father, who spent his remaining days slaving away at his place of work. Annabell's mangled body was sent back to the Capitol, where it was briskly disposed of.

**15th – Alexis Tress, District Nine**

Sobbing through false tears, Alexis's parents accepted her body… then quickly buried her, shedding their facades and revealing their true selves – people who could not have cared less for their daughter. They thought of her as a possession, a pretty image who lived with them and occasionally piped up, and nothing more.

**14th – Alister Rain, District Five**

His family was sad, sure. Losing a child is never simple, never easy. But with Alister? People didn't like the change he underwent. They'd always seen him as the kind of guy you could bounce back to with ease, and he'd accept you. He lost himself in that arena. He became tough, gruesome, gritty, and relentless… and people didn't like that.

**13th – Nubu Chandlers, District Ten**

Much like with Alister, Nubu lost himself on the plantation. Or perhaps it started before the arena even came into play – his mind, never the most stable, quivered until it fractured. His family couldn't say that they were surprised – even though they adored Nubu with all their hearts, something was always off about the boy.

**12th – Coral Fisher, District Four**

Always the soft-spoken and flirtatious young girl, her parents wept for her when her stone-cold corpse returned. Her young brother stared down at her body, a single tear marking his face. They took her limp form to the sea, to the peak where they so often watched her go cliff diving. They took one last look at her, and they let her go.

**11th- Francis Theroux, District Six**

It went both ways. Francis used his parents to get what he wanted, no matter how much he stammered through it, and they used him, in more ways than one. He left behind a marking of wealth that they'd use long after his death, and they never kept a single one of his paintings. Even his precious paintbrushes were discarded, lost in translation.

**10th – Nessa Aoki, District Eleven**

Dead, deceased, perished. Nessa was banished from the lives of her family and friends, and Joshua was especially affected. Young love is never the easiest to give up, and certainly not under those circumstances. He visited Nessa's meager grave often, rambling on and on to her about his own troubles, never once losing sight of her.

**9th- Jinx Tesatsu, District Six**

Nobody mourned for Jinx. Nobody missed her. Well, maybe one – her airhead best friend, Calico. Nobody really linked her to ever being the sadist of District Six – they just pleasantly noted that there were no more torturings, no more deaths. They thought that perhaps Jinx or Francis's deaths had upset them. How wrong they were.

**8th – Brucite Gergeon, District One**

His family? Sad, but they got over him. Nano was probably the most affected, but he poured himself into a new hobby – painting. The girls? They're the ones who mourned for him. Tons and tons of the girls he led on, flexing his muscles to and flirting with, had been heartbroken when Brucite passed. They were the ones to care.

**7th – Constance von Trapp, District One**

District One was not proud of Constance. In their opinion, she was a bumbling girl who was clumsy, made pointless relationships, and overall, was badmouthed quite a bit. Gloss didn't back her up – he had been acting all this time. Twisted. He would spend his days flirting with the other young, vulnerable girls, hoping to volunteer.

**6th – Percy Brizo, District Four**

Percy's family was so hopeful for him. They had always wanted Percy to excel in whatever he did, and when he broke them the news, they had been shocked, but supportive. And then he died. The Brizo family had him buried at the local cemetery, at a large funeral that was attended by all of Percy's friends – and Grover, naturally.

**5th – Lux Sephina, District Five**

Without Lux, Array and Aeol were lost causes. She was the main provider for the family, with the two boys feeding off her like leeches. Array soon passed away from starvation, while Aeol was quick to find a job, pitied by all because of his position. He soon became addicted to morphling and spent his days obsessing over Lux and Array.

**4th – Arthur Augustus, District Three**

Who mourned for Arthur? Just about everybody. Though most were annoyed by the bouncy boy, they just as easily loved him and his comical personality. His funeral was attended by hundreds of people, some of them merely people from his school who knew his jokes and pranks. He was laid in a local cemetery to rest in peace.

**3rd – Willa Seamstress, District Eight**

Willa's group of friends were stricken, as was her family. They had always been brazen as they come, cocky almost, in expecting Willa to reign as victor. When she was killed, everybody was in complete shock – they had, in their minds, thought that she would always come back to them, but not in the form of a slim wooden casket.

**2nd – Surtr Kayhiv, District Twelve**

Surtr had exceeded everybody's expectations. He was the irritating fly to most, that one mosquito that just won't leave, but to his family and friends, he was the light bulb that lit up their world. They had expected his death to be set in stone from the moment his little foot touched the stage, but he had outdone what anybody thought.

**1st – Slate Bessarion, District Two**

Slate married Artemis mere weeks after he came back as a victor. Kissing her on the cheek when he came off his victory tour, smiling, always smiling, they both knew how messed up this was – and yet, how grateful they were! Deya would grow up with a father figure. Slate could live out the rest of his days in peace – and so he did, known as the wisest mentor that Two had ever experienced. He watched as multiple victors grew up after him – Helios, Hestia, Kronos, Lance, Eidra – and was their second father. He was the wisest of the wise, never seen without a family member clutching his hand, and he loved his life. Sure, he was upset about what had happened in his Games – but he knew better. He knew to shake it off. There were better things at hand to experience.

He even lived to see a new president rise from the ashes.

Everybody knows Juliet Violette Snow, more commonly known as Violette. Every district has suffered under her mirthless, unmerciful hand. And every single citizen residing in Panem knows exactly how the tight-lipped woman rose to power...

The Capitol and districts both were left gaping at their television screens as two young rebels, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen, threatened to commit suicide if the Capitol didn't cherish their love. Scrambling to say something, Seneca Alabaster Crane, now known as "the fool who dug his own grave" told them they could both reign as victors- completely against the traditions of the Games.

The districts saw this as an escape. District Eight was first to spark a revolution, closely followed by District Twelve, the rebels' home district. Seizing one last opportunity to gain control of power, President C. Snow ordered a Quarter Quell. The twist was simple- all tributes would be past victors.

The 75th Games were filled with bloodshed, tears, and eventually, one victor. Katniss Everdeen was killed off at the bloodbath, the result of an arrow to her temple thanks to Gloss Catch, a District One victor. Finnick Odair soon went insane, driven by his love for his own unstable-minded love interest, Annie Cresta, slammed a trident into each one of his allies, starting with Beetee Latier and ending with Peeta Mellark. Not four days later, Finnick Odair reigned victorious.

Little is known about how C. Snow passed away. Just two hours after Finnick was taken into the custody of the Capitol to be prepared for post-Games speeches, President Snow dropped dead. Some think of old age; others believe the power of a newfound failed rebellion got to his head. Still others suspect that poisons were slipped into his celebratory feast. Nobody, though, knows for sure.

And so, after his death, his daughter took over. Juliet Violette Snow, a thirty-five-year-old with soft blond hair and piercing grey eyes rose to power, claiming the position of President not a day after Snow himself passed away.

So begun the Violette Verse.

And Slate had seen it all.

**A/N: Little Red Wagon by Miranda Lambert.**

**Thus ends ASD! So long, you've been so fun to write!**

**Questions, for the last time?**

**Favorite scene?**

**Favorite tribute?**

**Favorite alliance?**

**Favorite line?**


End file.
